My love is deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, both are infinite.

If love be blind, it best agrees with night

Here is a rural fellow that will not be denied your Highness' presence: he brings you figs.

O for a horse with wings!

POLONIUS: What do you read, my lord? HAMLET: Words, words, words.

Assume a virtue, if you have it not. That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat; Of habits devil, is angel yet in this.

This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.