There is no vice so simple but assumes some mark of virtue on his outward parts.

Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! *It’s sad. Love looks like a nice thing, but it’s actually very rough when you experience it.*

What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours?

Wisely, and slow. They stumble that run fast.

This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; a foolish extravagant spirit full of forms, figures, shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions; these are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater, and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion.

Hasty marriage seldom proveth well.

No visor does become black villainy so well as soft and tender flattery.