I cannot but remember such things were that were most precious to me.

O, while you live, tell truth, and shame the Devil!

She never told her love, but let concealment, like a worm 'i th' bud, feed on her damask cheek. She pinned in thought; and, with a green and yellow melancholy, she sat like Patience on a monument, smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed? We men may say more, swear more; but indeed our shows are more than will; for we still prove much in our vows but little in our love.

Forever, and forever, farewell, Cassius! If we do meet again, why, we shall smile; If not, why then this parting was well made.

One half of me is yours, the other half is yours, Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, And so all yours.

O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd! She was a vixen when she went to school; And though she be but little, she is fierce.

Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.