He's of the colour of the nutmeg. And of the heat of the ginger.... he is pure air and fire; and the dull elements of earth and water never appear in him, but only in patient stillness while his rider mounts him; he is indeed a horse, and all other jades you may call beasts.

How much salt water thrown away in waste/ To season love, that of it doth not taste.

So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, and Robin shall restore amends.

Don't trust the person who has broken faith once.

You taught me language, and my profit on't / Is, I know how to curse

I do know when the blood burns, how prodigal the soul lends the tongue vows.

How many a holy and obsequious tear hath dear religious love stolen from mine eye, as interest of the dead!