The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burnt on the water.

Death is my son-in-law, death is my heir.

Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too.

Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving.

Do all men kill the things they do not love ............ The quality of mercy is not strain'd It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest It blesseth him that gives and him that takes

A fusty nut with no kernel.

Better conquest never canst thou make than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts against giddy, loose suggestions.