Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard.

A good heart 'is worth gold.

Let me have war, say I; it exceeds peace as far as day does night; it's spritely, waking, audible, and full of vent.

The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume. The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness And in the taste confounds the appetite. Therefore love moderately; long love doth so; Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.

Blood will have blood.

What is the city but the people?