And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And asleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me must be heard of, say, I taught thee.

Few love to hear the sins they love to act.

What made me love thee? let that persuade thee, there's something extraordinary in thee

These words are razors to my wounded heart.

Being of no power to make his wishes good: His promises fly so beyond his state That what he speaks is all in debt; he owes For every word.

I had rather live with cheese and garlic in a windmill.

What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.