The fool multitude, that choose by show, not learning more than the fond eye doth teach.

The one I love is the son of the one I hate! -Juliet p. 75

The pleasing punishment that women bear.

Through tattered clothes great vices do appear; Robes and furred gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold and the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks. Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw does pierce it.

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.

It is silliness to live when to live is torment, and then have we a prescription to die when death is our physician.

Though I be but prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy.