And nothing is, but what is not.

Ay, but hearken, sir; though the chameleon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by my victuals, and would fain have meat.

I do I know not what, and fear to find Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. Fate, show thy force. Ourselves we do not owe. What is decreed must be; and be this so.

O! Let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven; keep me in temper; I would not be mad!

she shall scant show well that now shows best.

Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo, The numbers of the feared.

A grandma's name is little less in love than is the doting title of a mother.