Look to her, Moor, if thou has eyes to see. She has deceived her father, and may thee.

Let us not burden our remembrances with a heaviness that's gone.

You are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave.

Care keeps his watch in every old man’s eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie.

Hate pollutes the mind.

It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury; signifying nothing.

Flower of this purple dye, Hit with Cupid's archery, Sink in apple of his eye.