If she lives till doomsday, she'll burn a week longer than the whole world.
How now, wit! Whither wander you?
He that has a house to put's head in has a good head-piece.
This is the very ecstasy of love, whose violent property ordoes itself and leads the will to desperate undertakings.
Look on beauty, and you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight.
So full of artless jealousy is guilt, It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.