Alas, their love may be call'd appetite. No motion of the liver, but the palate
... I am At war 'twixt will and will not.
What's done is done. The joy is in the doing.
As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown.
What we determine we often break. Purpose is but the slave to memory.
And by that destiny to perform an act Whereof what's past is prologue, what to come In yours and my discharge.