There's little of the melancholy element in her, my lord: she is never sad but when she sleeps; and not ever sad then; for I have heard my daughter say, she hath often dreamt of unhappiness, and waked herself with laughing.

As you are old and reverend, you should be wise.

Can I go forward when my heart is here?

I will be free, even to the uttermost, as I please, in words.

Love for thy love , and hand for hand I give.

Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the time, Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under't.

Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own