But we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted lusts; whereof I take this that you call love to bea sect or scion.... It is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the will.

Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.

The sun with one eye vieweth all the world.

There's small choice in rotten apples.

How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!

By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes.

Thy best of rest is sleep, And that thou oft provok'st; yet grossly fear'st Thy death, which is no more.