You Abilities Are Too Infant-like For Doing

By The Pricking Of My Thumbs, Something Wicked This Way Comes.

Love Comforteth Like Sunshine After Rain, But Lust's Effect Is Tempest After Sun; Love's Gentle Spring Doth Always Fresh Remain, Lust's Winter Comes Ere Summer Half Be Done; Love Surfeits Not, Lust Like A Glutton Dies; Love Is All Truth, Lust Full Of Forged Lies.

What, My Dear Lady Disdain! Are You Yet Living? Beatrice: Is It Possible Disdain Should Die While She Hath Such Meet Food To Feed It As Signior Benedick?

To Be Direct And Honest Is Not Safe.

To Stand Against The Deep Dread-bolted Thunder, In The Most Terrible And Nimble Stroke Of Quick, Cross Lightning.