Cursed be he that moves my bones.
What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god.
My heart is ever at your service.
The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, which hurts and is desired.
O, reason not the need!
Love is blind, it stops lovers seeing the silly things they do.