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

Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that.

What a deformed thief this fashion is.

To die is to be a counterfeit, for he is but the counterfeit of a man who hath not the life of a man; but to counterfeit dying when a man thereby liveth is to be no counterfeit, but the true and perfect image of life indeed.

I'll have no husband, if you be not he.

I would not wish Any companion in the world but you, Nor can imagination form a shape, Besides yourself, to like of.

Out, damned spot.