Ромео и Джульетта

Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the
fool no where but in's own house.

Give thy thoughts no tongue.

How is it that the clouds still hang on you?

It puzzles the will.

This is the very ecstasy of love, whose violent property ordoes itself and leads the will to desperate undertakings.

A knavish speech sleeps in a fool's ear.

More matter with less art.

therein lies the rub

We are oft to blame in this, -
'tis too much proved, - that with devotion's visage,
and pios action we do sugar o'er
the devil himself.

I must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words.