Go, write it in a martial hand; be curst and brief; it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent and fun of invention: taunt him with the licence of ink: if thou thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be amiss; and as many lies as will lie in thy shee.

You have her father's love, Demetrius; Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him!

Desire of having is the sin of covetousness.

Blind is his love, and best befits the dark.

Men at sometime are the masters of their fate.

O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! And yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all hooping.

The sudden hand of Death close up mine eye!