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

And be these juggling friends no more believ'd, That palter with us in a double sense; That keep the word of promise to our ear And break it to our hope.

Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin, as self-neglecting.

How many a holy and obsequious tear hath dear religious love stolen from mine eye, as interest of the dead!

God has given you one face, and you make yourself another.

Madam, you have bereft me of all words, Only my blood speaks to you in my veins.

That's a valiant flea that dares eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion.