Is this the generation of love? Hot blood, hot thoughts and hot deeds? Why, they are vipers. Is love a generation of vipers?

Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good; a shining gloss that fadeth suddenly; a flower that dies when it begins to bud; a doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower, lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour.

Like a man made after supper of a cheese-paring: when a' was naked, he was, for all the world, like a forked radish, with a head fantastically carved upon it with a knife.

Your hearts are mighty, your skins are whole.

When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand.

I know a place where the wild thyme blows, where oxlips and the nodding violet grows.

The common curse of mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in great revenue!