If I be waspish, best beware my sting.

O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head As is a winged messenger of heaven

I kissed thee ere I killed thee. No way but this, Killing myself, to die upon a kiss.

The moon of Rome, chaste as the icicle that's curded by the frost from purest snow.

Tempt not a desperate man

There is none of my uncle's marks upon you; he taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes I am sure you are not prisoner.

A Devil, a born Devil on whose nature, nurture can never stick, on whom my pain, humanly taken, all lost, quite lost.