His neigh is like the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance enforces homage. He is indeed a horse.

Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O any thing, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness, serious vanity, Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms, Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health, Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this.

Is there no pity sitting in the clouds That sees into the bottom of my grief? O sweet my mother, cast me not away! Delay this marriage for a month, a week, Or if you do not, make the bridal bed In that dim monument where Tybalt lies.

Assure thee, if I do vow a friendship, I'll perform it to the last article." --Othello, Act III, Scene iii

Lawn as white as driven snow; Cyprus black as e'er was crow; Gloves as sweet as damask roses.

The small amount of foolery wise men have makes a great show.

I rather would entreat thy company; To see the wonders of the world abroad, Than, living dully sluggardized at home, Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.