Lawn as white as driven snow; Cyprus black as e'er was crow; Gloves as sweet as damask roses.
The pow'r that I have on you is to spare you; The malice towards you to forgive you.
I say, without characters, fame lives long.
Beauty itself doth of itself persuade the eyes of men without an orator.
A good wit will make use of anything.
Romeo: Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much. Mercutio: No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve. Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man.