But to my mind, though I am native here, And to the manner born, it is a custom, More honored in the breach than the observance.

Thou knowest, winter tames man, woman, and beast.

I was adored once too.

If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.

Believe then, if you please, that I can do strange things. [Act 5, Scene 2]

Good words are better than bad strokes.

Sweet are the uses of adversity which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, wears yet a precious jewel in his head.