For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy

I have no way and therefore want no eyes I stumbled when I saw. Full oft 'tis seen our means secure us, and our mere defects prove our commodities.

Thou art sad; get thee a wife, get thee a wife!

Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead are but as pictures: ‘tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil

How much better is it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping?

Love that we cannot have is the one that lasts the longest,hurts the deepest,but feels the strongest

By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes.