What a deformed thief this fashion is.

...and then, in dreaming, / The clouds methought would open and show riches / Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked / I cried to dream again.

If the masses can love without knowing why, they also hate without much foundation.

In sooth I know not why I am so sad. It wearies me, you say it wearies you; But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, I am to learn.

Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak.

But whate'er I am, nor I nor any man that but man is, With nothing shall be pleased 'til he be eased With being nothing.

Before, I loved thee as a brother, John, But now, I do respect thee as my soul.