"The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves."

“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”