Alas, their love may be call'd appetite. No motion of the liver, but the palate
I do love nothing in the world so well as you- is not that strange?
I cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving.
People’s good deeds we write in water. The evil deeds are etched in brass.
Give me to drink mandragora.
Lord, what fools these mortals be!