in black ink my love may still shine bright.
I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, Than such a Roman.
O teach me how I should forget to think (1.1.224)
My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind; So flew'd, so sanded; their heads are hung with ears that sweep away the morning dew.
It is meant that noble minds keep ever with their likes; for who so firm that cannot be seduced.
And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear, millions of mischiefs.