My joy is death- Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard, Because I wish'd this world's eternity.

This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, Which gives men stomach to digest his words With better appetite.

I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come" (Phebe)

Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up. Be that thou know'st thou art and then thou art as great as that thou fear'st.

Your lordship, though not clean past your youth, have yet some smack of age in you, some relish of the saltiness of time.

To show an unfelt sorrow is an office Which the false man does easy.

Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff; Life and these lips have long been separated: Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.