Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff; Life and these lips have long been separated: Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.

Hasty marriage seldom proveth well.

And I will make it felony to drink small beer.

A Devil, a born Devil on whose nature, nurture can never stick, on whom my pain, humanly taken, all lost, quite lost.

What have we here? a man or a fish? dead or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fishlike smell; a kind of not of the newest poor-John. A strange fish!

And where two raging fires meet together, they do consume the thing that feeds their fury.

Unsubstantial Death is amorous.