There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.

Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber.

it is my lady! *sighs* o, it is my love! o, that she knew she were! she speaks, yet she sais nothing. what of that? her eye discourses; i will answer it. i am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks; two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, having some business, do entreat her eyes to twinkle in their spheres till they return.

Go to you bosom: Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know.

. . . it is impossible you should take true root but by the fair weather that you make yourself it is needful that you frame the season of your own harvest.

They are in the very wrath of love, and they will go together. Clubs cannot part them

What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted! Thrice is he arm'd, that hath his quarrel just.