How now, my sweet creature of bombast! How long is't ago, Jack, since thou saw'st thien own knee?
The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain.
We are arrant knaves all, believe none of us.
There is nothing more evil than "Love" itself.
For in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness.
While thou livest keep a good tongue in thy head.