There's her cousin, an she were not possessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in beauty as the first of May doth the last of December.

I am indeed not her fool, but her corrupter of words. (Act III, sc. I, 37-38)

These violent delights have violent ends.

The iron tongue of Midnight hath told twelve lovers, to bed; 'tis almost fairy time. I fear we shall outstep the coming morn as much as we this night over-watch'd.

We cannot fight for love, as men may do; we shou'd be woo'd, and were not made to woo

I cannot speak your england.

Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck, And yet methinks I have astronomy. But not to tell of good or evil luck, Of plagues, of dearths, or season's quality; Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell ... Or say with princes if it shall go well.