Love is a spirit all compact of fire.
Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return to plague the inventor.
The last taste of sweets is sweetest last.
Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that.
Go to you bosom: Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know.
Polonius: Do you know me, my lord? Hamlet: Excellent well. You are a fishmonger.