Conscience Is A Thousand Swords.

The Ides Of March Are Come. Soothsayer: Ay, Caesar; But Not Gone.

It Is My Soul That Calls Upon My Name; How Silver-sweet Sound Lovers' Tongues By Night, Like Softest Music To Attending Ears! -romeo

If Thou Wilt Lend This Money, Lend It Not As To Thy Friends; For When Did Friendship Take A Breed For Barren Metal Of His Friend?

To Loathe The Taste Of Sweetness, Whereof Little More Than A Little Is By Much Too Much.

Cupid Is A Knavish Lad, Thus To Make Poor Females Mad.