Some grief shows much of love, But much of grief shows still some want of wit.

Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too.

A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us; His dew falls everywhere.

Captain of our fairy band, Helena is here at hand, And the youth, mistook by me, Pleading for a lover's fee. Shall we their fond pageant see? Lord, what fools these mortals be!

Nothing can come of nothing.

There is no more mercy in him than there is milk in a male tiger.

Virtue is chok'd with foul ambition