Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks

Olivia: What's a drunken man like, fool? Feste: Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him.

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.

There is no sure foundation set on blood, No certain life achieved by others' death.

Love goes toward love.

How many fond fools serve mad jealousy!

He that has a house to put's head in has a good head-piece.