Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the time, Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under't.

The venom clamours of a jealous woman poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth.

O polished perturbation! golden care! That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide To many a watchful night.

Let me embrace thee, sour adversity, for wise men say it is the wisest course.

It will have blood, they say; blood will have blood.

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May.

The past is prologue.