Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast, yet love breaks through and picks them all at last.
For it falls out That what we have we prize not to the worth Whiles we enjoy it, but being lacked and lost, Why, then we rack the value, then we find The virtue that possession would not show us While it was ours.
A little more than kin, and less than kind.
This thing of darkness I Acknowledge mine.
The insolence of office.
There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will.