Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is slicked o'er with the pale cast of thought

I hold it cowardice To rest mistrustful where a noble heart Hath pawned an open hand in sign of love.

I have not slept one wink.

The whirligig of time brings in his revenges.

I am indeed not her fool, but her corrupter of words. (Act III, sc. I, 37-38)

Demand me nothing: what you know, you know.

Tell me, daughter Juliet, How stands your dispositions to be married" It is an honor that I dream not of