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.

You are not wood, you are not stones, but men.

Care is no cure, but rather corrosive, For things that are not to be remedied.

Base men being in love have then a nobility in their natures more than is native to them.

Absence doth sharpen love, presence strengthens it; the one brings fuel, the other blows it till it burns clear.

For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings.

Hot blood begets hot thoughts, And hot thoughts beget Hot deeds, And hot deeds is love.