To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof little more than a little is by much too much.

Death is a fearful thing.

All lovers swear more performance than they are able, and yet reserve an ability that they never perform; vowing more than the perfection of ten, and discharging less than the tenth part of one.

She cannot love, nor take no shape nor project or affection, she is so self-endeared

O that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth! Then with passion would I shake the world.

The cunning livery of hell.

Slander lives upon succession, For ever housed where it gets possession.