Affliction is enamoured of thy parts, and thou art wedded to calamity.

To mourn a mischief that is past and gone is the next way to draw new mischief on.

O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil.

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May.

When love begins to sicken and decay it uses an enforced ceremony.

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs. Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers eyes. Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers tears. What is it else? A madness most discreet, a choking gall and a preserving sweet.

But love is blind, and lovers cannot see what petty follies they themselves commit.

Love bears it out even to the edge of doom.

After life's fitful fever he sleeps well. Treason has done his worst. Nor steel nor poison, malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing can touch him further.

I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones.