Who is it can read a woman?
If our virtues did not go forth of us, it were all alike as if we had them not.
Et tu Brute! (You too, Brutus!)
Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight, Past reason hunted, and no sooner had Past reason hated
Come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy, That one short minute gives me in her sight
O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven