Speak me fair in death.

I am in blood Stepp'd in so far, that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er.

We will all laugh at gilded butterflies.

A lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing.

... I am At war 'twixt will and will not.

Why, i' faith, methinks she's too low for a high praise, too brown for a fair praise and too little for a great praise: only this commendation I can afford her, that were she other than she is, she were unhandsome; and being no other but as she is, I do not like her. (Benedick, from Much Ado About Nothing)

Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing.