They lie deadly that tell you have good faces.

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.

There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

Every why hath a wherefore.

As good luck would have it.

Mine eyes Were not in fault, for she was beautiful; Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart, That thought her like her seeming. It had been vicious To have mistrusted her.

And will he not come again? And will he not come again? No, no, he is dead. Go to thy deathbed. He never will come again.