There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.

It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover.

Give me my sin again.

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.

To think but nobly of my grandmother: Good wombs have borne bad sons.

Let those that play your clowns speak no more than is set down for them.

Happy are they that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending.