I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.
I never did like molestation view On the enchafèd flood.
Claudius. How is it that the clouds still hang on you? Hamlet. Not so, my lord, I am too much in the sun.
I want that glib and oily art To speak and purpose not, since what I well intend, I'll do't before I speak.
For your writing and reading, let that appear when there is no need of such vanity.
The murmuring surge, That on th' unnumbered idle pebble chafes, Cannot be heard so high.
Beauty and honor in her are so mingled That they have caught the king.
Thou art a fellow of a good respect; Thy life hath had some smatch of honor in it.
If I be left behind, A moth of peace, and he go to the war, The rites for which I love him are bereft me, And I a heavy interim shall support By his dear absence. Let me go with him.
Unkindness may do much, And his unkindness may defeat my life, But never taint my love.