What made me love thee? let that persuade thee, there's something extraordinary in thee

She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd, And I lov'd her that she did pity them

Here is a rural fellow that will not be denied your Highness' presence: he brings you figs.

For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground, and tell sad stories of the death of kings... All murdered; for within the hollow crown that rounds the mortal temples of a king, keeps Death his court... and with a little pin bores through his castle wall, and farewell king!

Macbeth to Witches: What are these So wither'd and so wild in their attire, That look not like th' inhabitants o' th' earth, And yet are on 't?

On Rumor's tongue continual slanders ride.

I can hardly forbear hurling things at him.