Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.

Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts- O wicked wit and gifts, that have the power So to seduce!

Now 'tis spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted; Suffer them now and they'll o'ergrow the garden.

Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him? - Lady Macbeth

Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine.

I must be cruel only to be kind; Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.

There's place and means for every man alive.