This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so, it is a chance which does redeem all sorrows that ever I have felt.

Methinks you are my glass, and not my brother: I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth.

Therefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion

I must be cruel, only to be kind.

This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory.

Hath Romeo slain himself? Say thou but ay, And that bare vowel ay shall poison more Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice. I am not I,if there be such an ay, Or those eyes shut,that make thee answer ay: If he be slain say ay,or if not,no: Brief sounds,determine of my weal or woe.

Frailty, thy name is woman!