This fell sergeant, Death, Is strict in his arrest.
I praise God for you, sir: your reasons at dinner have been sharp and sententious; pleasant without scurrility, witty without affectation, audacious without impudency, learned without opinion, and strange with-out heresy.
Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more.
When truth kills truth, O devilish holy fray!
He that is giddy thinks the world turns round.
Love is not love that alters when it alteration finds.