These earthly godfathers of Heaven's lights, that give a name to every fixed star, have no more profit of their shining nights than those that walk and know not what they are.

Is it not strange, that sheep's guts should hale souls out of men's bodies!

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

I’ll look to like, if looking liking move; But no more deep will I endart mine eye than your consent gives strength to make it fly.

Frailty, thy name is woman!

I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.

Every why hath a wherefore.