Your face is a book where men may read strange matters.
The moon shines bright. In such a night as this. When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees and they did make no noise, in such a night...
How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags? What is 't you do?
He that drinks all night, and is hanged betimes in the morning, may sleep the sounder all the next day.
I am not mad: I would to heaven I were! For then, 'tis like I should forget myself: O, if I could, what grief should I forget! Preach some philosophy to make me mad, And thou shalt be canonized, cardinal.
It is the green eyed monster which doth mock.