For this, be sure, tonight thou shalt have cramps, Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up. Urchins Shall forth at vast of night that they may work All exercise on thee. Thou shalt be pinched As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging Than bees that made 'em.

I know a lady in Venice would have walked barefoot to Palestine for a touch of his nether lip

The will is infinite and the execution confin'd, the desire is boundless and the act a slave to limit.

Mine eyes smell onions: I shall weep anon.

You lack the season of all natures, sleep.

Suffer love; a good epithet! I do suffer love, indeed, for I love thee against my will.

O powerful love, that in some respects makes a beast a man, in some other, a man a beast.