The cunning livery of hell.

Should the poor be flattered? No; let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp, and crook the pregnant hinges of the knee where thrift may follow fawning.

If wishes would prevail with me, my purpose should not fail with me.

When I have plucked the rose, I cannot give it vital growth again, It needs must wither. I'll smell it on the tree.

I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs.(IAGO,ActI,SceneI)

Would it not grieve a woman to be over-mastered by a piece of valiant dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marle?

Women are as roses, whose fair flower, being once displayed, doth fall that very hour.