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

Most dear actors, eat no onions nor garlic, for we are to utter sweet breath.

Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.

If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.

Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours: I give away myself for you and dote upon the exchange.

In the modesty of fearful duty, I read as much as from the rattling tongue of saucy and audacious eloquence.

Words spoken can not be recalled so think twice before you speak.