A Devil, a born Devil on whose nature, nurture can never stick, on whom my pain, humanly taken, all lost, quite lost.

Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.

I were better to be eaten to death with a rust than to be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion.

Suffer love; a good epithet! I do suffer love, indeed, for I love thee against my will.

What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her?

There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.

This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven.