The native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; and enterprises of great pitch and moment, With this regard, their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action.

We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone.

We wound our modesty and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them.

Every fair from fair sometime declines

The fittest time to corrupt a man's wife is when she's fallen out with her husband.

What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living? Beatrice: Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick?

With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold love out