Every why hath a wherefore.

Appetite, a universal wolf.

My crown is in my heart, not on my head; not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, nor to be seen: my crown is called content, a crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.

They are fairies; he that speaks to them shall die. I'll wink and couch; no man their works must eye.

They are in the very wrath of love, and they will go together. Clubs cannot part them

I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness, And from that full meridian of my glory I haste now to my setting.

We make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars; as if we were villians by compulsion.