A Very Little Little Let

O You Beast! I'll So Maul You And Your Toasting-iron, That You Shall Think The Devil Is Come From Hell.

Mercutio: "if Love Be Rough With You, Be Rough With Love.

What Must Be Shall Be.

I Am Not Mad; I Would To Heaven I Were! For Then, 'tis Like I Should Forget Myself; O, If I Could, What Grief Should I Forget!

You Are Not Wood, You Are Not Stones, But Men.