My love is as a fever, longing still.

O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock The meat it feeds on.

GLOUCESTER: Yet so much is my poverty of spirit, So mighty and so many my defects, As I had rather hide me from my greatness, Being a bark to brook no mighty sea, Than in my greatness covet to be hid, And in the vapour of my glory smother'd. But God be thanked. . . .

Travelers never did lie, though fools at home condemn them.

Well, in that hit you miss. She'll not be hit With Cupid's arrow. She hath Dian's wit, And, in strong proff of chastity well armed, From Love's weak childish bow she lives uncharmed. She will not stay the siege of loving terms, Nor bide th' encounter of assailing eyes, Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold. O, she is rich in beauty; only poor That, when she dies, with dies her store. Act 1,Scene 1, lines 180-197

Nothing is so common as the wish to be remarkable.(attributed to)

There is no sure foundation set on blood, No certain life achieved by others' death.