I...Kisss the tender inward of thy hand.
Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania
The bird that hath been limed in a bush, with trembling wings misdoubteth every bush.
We are advertis'd by our loving friends.
What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
O God, O God, how weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!