“What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night,So stumblest on my counsel?*Who are you? Why do you hide in the darkness and listen to my private thoughts?*”

“Tis but thy name that is my enemy;Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.What’s Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,Nor arm, nor face, nor any other partBelonging to a man. O, be some other name!What’s in a name? that which we call a roseBy any other name would smell as sweet;So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d,Retain that dear perfection which he owesWithout that title. Romeo, doff thy name,And for that name which is no part of theeTake all myself.I take thee at thy word:Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptized;Henceforth I never will be Romeo.What man art thou that thus bescreen’din nightSo stumblest on my counsel?By a nameI know not how to tell thee who I am:My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,Because it is an enemy to thee;Had I it written, I would tear the word.My ears have not yet drunk a hundred wordsOf that tongue’s utterance, yet I know the sound:”

“How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak!Your eyes do menace me. Why look you pale?Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come?”

“Look thee, 'tis so! Thou singly honest man,Here, take: the gods out of my miseryHave sent thee treasure. Go, live rich and happy;But thus condition'd: thou shalt build from men;Hate all, curse all, show charity to none,But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone,Ere thou relieve the beggar; give to dogsWhat thou deny'st to men; let prisons swallow 'em,Debts wither 'em to nothing; be men likeblasted woods,And may diseases lick up their false bloods!And so farewell and thrive.FLAVIUS O, let me stay,And comfort you, my master.TIMON If thou hatest curses,Stay not; fly, whilst thou art blest and free:Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee.”

“For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.”

“Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits?"Malvolio: "Fool, there was never a man so notoriously abused. I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art."Feste: "But as well? Then you are mad indeed, if you be no better in you wits than a fool.”

“Why didst thou promise such a beauteous dayAnd make me travel forth without my cloak,To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way,Hiding they brav'ry in their rotten smoke?”