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?

Your gentleness shall force More than your force move us to gentleness.

I am indeed not her fool, but her corrupter of words. (Act III, sc. I, 37-38)

O' What may man within him hide, though angel on the outward side!

I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded fellow speaks it; knavery cannot, sure, hide himself in such reverence.

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.

Make the doors upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the casement; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole; stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney.