She speaks poniards, and every word stabs.
If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride, and hug it in mine arms.
Oh! it offends me to the soul to hear a robust periwig-pated fellow, tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings.
For by his face straight shall you know his heart.
To sue to live, I find I seek to die; And, seeking death, find life: let it come on.
Do not speak like a death's-head, do not bid me remember mine end.