“I must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words.”

“But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.”

“It is not, nor it cannot, come to good, But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.”

“These words are razors to my wounded heart".”

“Give me that man that is not passion's slave, and I will wear him in my heart's core, in my heart of heart, as I do thee.”

“What do you read, my lord? Hamlet: Words, words, words. Lord Polonius: What is the matter, my lord? Hamlet: Between who? Lord Polonius: I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.”

“For when my outward action doth demonstrate The native act and figure of my heart In complement extern 'tis not long after But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at I am not what I am.”