Ambition should be made of sterner stuff.

Kiss me, Kate, we shall be married o'Sunday

You're in love? Out Out of love? I love someone. She doesn't love me.

Hamlet: Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring? Ophelia: 'Tis brief, my lord. Hamlet: As woman's love.

This is his uncle's teaching, this Worcester, Malevolent to you In all aspects, Which makes him prune himself and bristle up The crest of youth against your dignity.

When once our grace we have forgot, Nothing goes right.

Slander, whose whisper over the world's diameter, as level as the cannon to its blank, transports its poisoned shot.