Why, what's the matter, That you have such a February face, So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness?

This man, lady, hath robb'd many beasts of their particular additions: he is as valiant as a lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant-a man into whom nature hath so crowded humours that his valour is crush'd into folly, his folly sauced with discretion.

Under the greenwood tree, Who loves to lie with me And tune his merry note, Unto the sweet bird's throat; Come hither, come hither, come hither. Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.

Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge of thine own cause.

The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law. - Romeo

Make me a willow cabin at your gate, And call upon my soul within the house; Write loyal cantons of contemned love And sing them loud even in the dead of night.

For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy.