Faster than spring-time showers comes thought on thought.

Hell is empty and all the devils are here.

If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge.

I have a kind soul that would give you thanks. And knows not how to do it but with tears.

What is your substance, whereof are you made, That millions of strange shadows on you tend? Since everyone hath every one, one shade, And you, but one, can every shadow lend. Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit Is poorly imitated after you. On Helen’s cheek all art of beauty set, And you in Grecian tires are painted new. Speak of the spring and foison of the year; The one doth shadow of your beauty show, The other as your bounty doth appear, And you in every blessèd shape we know. In all external grace you have some part, But you like none, none you, for constant heart.

Talking isn't doing. It is a kind of good deed to say well; and yet words are not deeds.

For I am he am born to tame you, Kate; and bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate conformable as other household Kates.