“If she lives till doomsday, she'll burn a week longer than the whole world.”

“Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!It seems she hangs upon the cheek of nightLike a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear,Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear.So shows a snowy dove trooping with crowsAs yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.The measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand,And, touching hers, make blessèd my rude hand.Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight!For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.”

“Well, in that hit you miss. She'll not be hitWith Cupid's arrow. She hath Dian's wit,And, in strong proff of chastity well armed,From Love's weak childish bow she lives uncharmed. She will not stay the siege of loving terms,Nor bide th' encounter of assailing eyes,Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold.O, she is rich in beauty; only poorThat, when she dies, with dies her store.Act 1,Scene 1, lines 180-197”

“It is an heretic that makes the fire, Not she which burns in't.”

“When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.”

“I will not trust you, I,Nor longer stay in your curst company.Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray,My legs are longer though, to run away.”

“One touch of nature makes the whole world kin,That all with one consent praise new-born gauds,Though they are made and moulded of things past,And give to dust that is a little giltMore laud than gilt o'er-dusted.The present eye praises the present object.”