Who can control his fate?

You wear out a good wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause between an orange wife and a fosset-seller.

This man, lady, hath robb'd many beasts of their particular additions: he is as valiant as a lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant-a man into whom nature hath so crowded humours that his valour is crush'd into folly, his folly sauced with discretion.

I pray you, do not fall in love with me, for I am falser than vows made in wine.

[Thine] face is not worth sunburning.

Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death.

Love is a wonderful, terrible thing