O excellent! I love long life better than figs.

Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth But that our soft conditions and our hearts Should well agree with our external parts?

In the modesty of fearful duty, I read as much as from the rattling tongue of saucy and audacious eloquence.

Farewell, a long farewell to all my greatness! This is the state of man: today he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, tomorrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him: The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, And - when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a-ripening - nips his root, And then he falls, as I do.

Love is merely a madness.

What must be shall be.

O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock The meat it feeds on.