“The art of our necessities is strangeThat can make vile things precious.”

“Things base and vile, holding no quantity,Love can transpose to form and dignity.Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.Nor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste;Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste.”

“He that is strucken blind can not forget the precious treasure of his eyesight lost.”

“Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin, as self-neglecting.”

“Was ever book containing such vile matter so fairly bound? O that deceit should dwell in such a gorgeous place!”

“Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor;Most choice, forsaken; and most loved, despised!Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon:Be it lawful I take up what's cast away.Gods, gods! 'tis strange that from their cold'st neglectMy love should kindle to inflamed respect.Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance,Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France:Not all the dukes of waterish BurgundyCan buy this unprized precious maid of me.Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind:Thou losest here, a better where to find.”

“the hate I bear thee can afford no better term then this: thou art a villian.”