"Iago: If the balance of our lives had not one scale of reason to poise another of sensuality, the blood and baseness of our natures would conduct us to most preposterous conclusions."

“O God! methinks, it were a happy life,To be no better than a homely swain;To sit upon a hill, as I do now,To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,Thereby to see the minutes how they run:How many make the hour full complete,How many hours bring about the day,How many days will finish up the year,How many years a mortal man may live.”

“She's beautiful, and therefore to be woo'd;She is a woman, therefore to be won.”

“Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends.”

“Good frend for Jesus sake forbeareTo digg the dust encloased heareBlese be the man that spares these stonesAnd curst be he that moves my bones”

“Crabbed age and youth cannot live together:Youth is full of pleasure, age is full of care”

“On a day — alack the day! —Love, whose month is ever May,Spied a blossom passing fairPlaying in the wanton air”