He kills her in her own humor.

Full many a glorious morn I have seen Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy.

As a walled town is more worthier than a village, so is the forehead of a married man more honorable than the bare brow of a bachelor.

Nothing can come of nothing.

Care is no cure, but rather corrosive, For things that are not to be remedied.

Oh God! that one might read the book of fate, And see the revolution of the times Make mountains level, and the continent, Weary of solid firmness, melt itself Into the sea.

Why, there's a wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate.