The Wounds Invisible That Love's Keen Arrows

Rumour Is A Pipe Blown By Surmises, Jealousies, Conjectures And Of So Easy And So Plain A Stop That The Blunt Monster With Uncounted Heads, The Still-discordant Wavering Multitude, Can Play Upon It.

Glendower: I Can Call The Spirits From The Vasty Deep. Hotspur: Why, So Can I, Or So Can Any Man; But Will They Come, When You Do Call For Them?

For By His Face Straight Shall You Know His Heart.

Go Hang Yourself, You Naughty Mocking Uncle!

Heat Not A Furnace For Your Foe So Hot That It Do Singe Yourself.