Upon thy cheek I lay this zealous kiss, as seal to the indenture of my love.

One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.

Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too.

Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, That not your trespass but my madness speaks.

Plenty and peace breed cowards; hardness ever of hardiness is mother.

Polonius: Do you know me, my lord? Hamlet: Excellent well. You are a fishmonger.

Foul whisp'rings are abroad.