My only love sprung from my only hate.

The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, doth glance from heaven to Earth, from Earth to heaven; and as imagination bodies forth the forms of things unknown, the poet's pen turns them to shape, and gives to airy nothing a local habitation and a name; such tricks hath strong imagination.

Set honour in one eye and death i' the other, And I will look on both indifferently.

I have unclasp'd to thee the book even of my secret soul.

My falcon now is sharp and passing empty, and till she stoop she must not be full-gorged, for then she never looks upon her lure.

O, she misused me past the endurance of a block.

The hideous god of war.