Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible to feelings as to sight?

You told a lie, an odious damned lie; Upon my soul, a lie, a wicked lie.

Romeo: I dreamt a dream tonight. Mercutio: And so did I. Romeo: Well, what was yours? Mercutio: That dreamers often lie. Romeo: In bed asleep while they do dream things true.

Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine.

Who riseth from a feast With that keen appetite that he sits down?

Fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to herrings, the husband's the bigger.

Then was I as a tree whose boughs did bend with fruit; but in one night, a storm or robbery, call it what you will, shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, and left me bare to weather.