A miracle. Here's our own hands against our hearts. Come, I will have thee, but by this light I take thee for pity. Beatrice: I would not deny you, but by this good day, I yield upon great persuasion, and partly to save your life, for I was told you were in a consumption. Benedick: Peace. I will stop your mouth.

Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore, so do our minutes, hasten to their end.

A maiden hath no tongue--but thought.

Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs; Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vexed, a sea nourished with loving tears. What is it else? A madness most discreet, A choking gall, and a preserving sweet. *Here’s what love is: a smoke made out of lovers' sighs. When the smoke clears, love is a fire burning in your lover’s eyes. If you frustrate love, you get an ocean made out of lovers' tears. What else is love? It’s a wise form of madness. It’s a sweet lozenge that you choke on.*

a girl takes too much time to love and a few seconds to hate. but a boy takes a few seconds to love and too much time to hate.

We cannot fight for love, as men may do; we shou'd be woo'd, and were not made to woo

To show our simple skill, That is the true beginning of our end.