Women speak two languages - one of which is verbal.

Here comes Monseiur Le Beau. Rosalind: With his mouth full of news. Celia: Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young. Rosalind: Then shall we be news-crammed. Celia: All the better; we shall be the more marketable.

Journeys end in lovers meeting.

Hear my soul speak. Of the very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly at your service

Love's stories written in love's richest books. To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.

No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine And made no deeper wounds?

By Heaven, I love thee better than myself