Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself are much condemned to have an itching palm.

But Kate, dost thou understand thus much English? Canst thou love me?" Catherine: "I cannot tell." Henry: "Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate? I'll ask them.

Music, moody food Of us that trade in love.

Heaven would that she these gifts should have, and I to live and die her slave.

We have some salt of our youth in us.

Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; To sleep, perchance to dream—For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause, there's the respect, That makes calamity of so long life

Greatest scandal waits on greatest state.