Absence doth sharpen love, presence strengthens it; the one brings fuel, the other blows it till it burns clear.

By my troth, I care not; a man can die but once; we owe God a death and let it go which way it will he that dies this year is quit for the next

true apothecary thy drugs art quick

But I am constant as the Northern Star, Of whose true fixed and resting quality There is no fellow in the firmament.

Sycorax has grown into a hoop

His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles; his love sincere, his thoughts immaculate; his tears pure messengers sent from his heart; his heart as far from fraud, as heaven from earth

Drink, sir, is a great provoker of three things . . . nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes; it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance.