One half of me is yours, the other half is yours, Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, And so all yours.

But, indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds [vows] disgraced them." Viola: "Thy reason, man?" Feste: "Troth [Truthfully], sir, I can yield you none without words, and words are grown so false, I am loathe to prove reason with them.

You dull ass will not mend his pace with beating.

As soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of love with words.

The big round tears Cours'd one another down his innocent nose, In piteous chase.

Being daily swallowed by men's eyes, They surfeited with honey and began To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much. So, when he had occasion to be seen, He was but as the cuckoo is in June. Heard, not regarded.

The sun with one eye vieweth all the world.