Tis in my memory lock'd, And you yourself shall keep the key of it.
They love least that let men know their loves.
Manhood is melted into courtesies, valor into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones, too.
Some kinds of baseness are nobly undergone.
Love is the greatest of dreams, yet the worst of nightmares.
If the skin were parchment and the blows you gave were ink, Your own handwriting would tell you what I think.