Every True Man's Apparel Fits Your Thief.

Never Anger Made Good Guard For Itself.

My Falcon Now Is Sharp And Passing Empty, And Till She Stoop She Must Not Be Full-gorged, For Then She Never Looks Upon Her Lure.

Proper Deformity Shows Not In The Fiend So Horrid As In Woman.

Why, I Can Smile And Murder Whiles I Smile, And Cry 'content' To That Which Grieves My Heart, And Wet My Cheeks With Artificial Tears, And Frame My Face For All Occasions

As I Hope For Quiet Days, Fair Issue, And Long Life, With Such Love As 'tis Now, The Murkiest Den, The Most Opportune Place, The Strong'st Suggestion Our Worser Genius Can, Shall Never Melt Mine Honour Into Lust, To Take Away The Edge Of That Day's Celebration, When I Shall Think Or Phoebus' Steeds Are Founder'd Or Night Kept Chain'd Below.