Till all grace be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace.

O, what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do, not knowing what they do.

What hands are here? ha! they pluck out mine eyes! Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.” “My hands are of your colour; but I shame to wear a heart so white. A little water clears us of this deed: How easy it is then! Your constancy hath left you unattended.

A politician... one that would circumvent God.

Receive what cheer you may. The night is long that never finds the day.

As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods; they kill us for their sport.

I am not mad; I would to heaven I were! For then, 'tis like I should forget myself; O, if I could, what grief should I forget!