No sooner met but they looked; no sooner looked but they loved; no sooner loved but they sighed; no sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason; no sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy; and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage.

Let me confess that we two must be twain, although our undivided loves are one.

Until I know this sure uncertainty, I'll entertain the offered fallacy.

Haply for I am black, And have not those soft parts of conversation That chamberers have; or for I am declined Into the vale of years—yet that’s not much— She’s gone. I am abused, and my relief Must be to loathe her. O curse of marriage, That we can call these delicate creatures ours And not their appetites! I had rather be a toad And live upon the vapor of a dungeon Than keep a corner in the thing I love For others’ uses. Yet ’tis the plague of great ones; Prerogatived are they less than the base. ’Tis destiny unshunnable, like death.

Let not the world see fear and sad distrust govern the motion of a kingly eye.

Oh why rebuke you him that loves you so? / Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.

We have some salt of our youth in us.