But jealous souls will not be answered so, They are not ever jealous for the cause, But jealous for they're jealous. 'Tis a monster Begot upon itself, born on itself.

Thou hast most traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm in erecting a grammar school.

To England will I steal, and there I'll steal.

Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should without eyes see pathways to his will!

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.

Olivia: What's a drunken man like, fool? Feste: Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him.

There's beggary in love that can be reckoned