Scorn, at first, makes after-love the more.
One half of me is yours, the other half is yours, Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, And so all yours.
Two women placed together makes cold weather.
Fair is foul, and foul is fair, hover through fog and filthy air.
Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light.
He that sleeps feels not the tooth-ache