He's loved of the distracted multitude, who like not in their judgement, but their eyes.

Madam, you have bereft me of all words, Only my blood speaks to you in my veins.

To wilful men, the injuries that they themselves procure must be their schoolmasters.

Romeo: Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much. Mercutio: No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve. Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man.

How much salt water thrown away in waste/ To season love, that of it doth not taste.

These cardinals trifle with me; I abhor; This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome.

Be to yourself as you would to your friend.