It is not night when I do see your face.

For 'tis the sport to have the engineer Hoist with his own petar; and't shall go hard But I will delve one yard below their mines And blow them at the moon.

Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too.

The ides of March are come. Soothsayer: Ay, Caesar; but not gone.

Yet this my comfort: when your words are done, My woes end likewise with the evening sun.

The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good.

Oppose not rage while rage is in its force, but give it way a while and let it waste.