When I was at home I was in a better place

Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.

... I am At war 'twixt will and will not.

She speaks poniards, and every word stabs.

She cannot love, nor take no shape nor project or affection, she is so self-endeared

Why should you think that I should woo in scorn? Scorn and derision never come in tears: Look, when I vow, I weep; and vows so born, In their nativity all truth appears. How can these things in me seem scorn to you, Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?

An overflow of good converts to bad.