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.
To beguile the time, look like the time.
I kissed thee ere I killed thee. No way but this, Killing myself, to die upon a kiss.
Let every eye negotiate for itself and trust no agent.
I thought my heart had been wounded with the claws of a lion.
. . from this moment The very firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my hand. And even now, To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done.