The devil is a gentleman.

I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus.

O mischief, thou art swift to enter in the thoughts of desperate men!

Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own

Men are April when they woo, December when they wed. Maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives.

Brutus, I do observe you now of late: I have not from your eyes that gentleness And show of love as I was wont to have: You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand Over your friend that loves you. Poor Brutus, with himself at war, Forgets the shows of love to other men.

Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.