For now they kill me with a living death.
Who is so firm that can't be seduced?
Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the time, Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under't.
For sorrow ends not, when it seemeth done.
Farewell, fair cruelty.
Lawless are they that make their wills their law.