Oh, I have passed a miserable night, so full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams!
Let me confess that we two must be twain, although our undivided loves are one.
They are sick that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing.
I like not fair terms and a villain's mind.
Bid the dishonest man mend himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest.
Never; he will not: Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety: other women cloy The appetites they feed: but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies.