Death Where Is Thy Sting? Love, Where

True Hope Is Swift, And Flies With Swallow's Wings.

What A Piece Of Work Is A Man

I Know A Lady In Venice Would Have Walked Barefoot To Palestine For A Touch Of His Nether Lip

Why, I' Faith, Methinks She's Too Low For A High Praise, Too Brown For A Fair Praise And Too Little For A Great Praise: Only This Commendation I Can Afford Her, That Were She Other Than She Is, She Were Unhandsome; And Being No Other But As She Is, I Do Not Like Her. (benedick, From Much Ado About Nothing)

He Is Not Great Who Is Not Greatly Good.