Where every something, being blent together turns to a wild of nothing.

Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile

[S]ince brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief.

Beshrew the heart that makes my heart to groan.

What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours?

I will make thee think thy swan a crow.

Truth will come to sight; murder cannot be hid long.