I kissed thee ere I killed thee. No way but this, Killing myself, to die upon a kiss.

And nothing is, but what is not.

Where hateful Death put on his ugliest mask.

We must not make a scarecrow of the law, Setting it up to fear the birds of prey, And let it keep one shape till custom make it Their perch, and not their terror.

Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.

Gloucester, we have done deeds of charity, made peace of enmity, fair love of hate, between these swelling wrong-incensed peers.

Take all the swift advantage of the hours.