This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven.
There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat. And we must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures.
The gods are just and of our pleasant vices Make instruments to plague us.
Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of the knowing me: it is a wise father that knows his own child.
How much better to weep at joy than to joy at weeping!
What did thy song bode, lady?