One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.
Good night, sweet friend: thy love ne’er alter, till thy sweet life end
What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be.
‘Tis best to weigh the enemy more mighty than he seems.
Parting is such sweet sorrow.
How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
He that loves to be flattered is worthy o’ the flatterer.
We know what we are, but know not what we may be.
Well, if Fortune be a woman, she’s a good wench for this gear.
And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.
Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.
Talking isn’t doing. It is a kind of good deed to say well; and yet words are not deeds.
I never see thy face but I think upon hell-fire.
But I do love thee! and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again.
Be not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.
The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
Words without thoughts never to heaven go.
Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
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