What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
My dull brain was wrought with things forgotten.
A woman would run through fire and water for such a kind heart.
Can I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.
Past and to come, seems best; things present, worse.
I am in blood Stepp'd in so far, that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er.