Free From Gross Passion Or Of Mirth

God Send Everyone Their Heart's Desire!

You Cannot, Sir, Take From Me Any Thing That I Will More Willingly Part Withal: Except My Life, Except My Life, Except My Life.

Good Hamlet, Cast Thy Nighted Colour Off ... Do Not For Ever With Thy Vailed Lids Seek For Thy Noble Father In The Dust.

O, My Offence Is Rank, It Smells To Heaven

Why, I' Faith, Methinks She's Too Low For A High Praise, Too Brown For A Fair Praise And Too Little For A Great Praise: Only This Commendation I Can Afford Her, That Were She Other Than She Is, She Were Unhandsome; And Being No Other But As She Is, I Do Not Like Her. (benedick, From Much Ado About Nothing)