A smile cures the wounding of a frown.

She cannot love, nor take no shape nor project or affection, she is so self-endeared

A rarer spirit never Did steer humanity; but you gods will give us Some faults to make us men.

Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too.

Cordelia! stay a little. Ha! What is't thou say'st? Her voice was ever soft.

But yet I'll make assurance double sure, and take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live.

Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me From mine own library with volumes that I prize above my dukedom.