These violent delights have violent endsAnd in their triump die, like fire and powderWhich, as they kiss, consume

Go wisely and slowly. Those who rush stumble and fall.

Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.

My only love sprung from my only hate.

There's an old saying that applies to me: you can't lose a game if you don't play the game. (Act 1, scene 4)

Do not swear by the moon, for she changes constantly. then your love would also change.

These violent delights have violent ends.

See how she leans her cheek upon her hand. O, that I were a glove upon that hand That I might touch that cheek!

Parting is such sweet sorrow

Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.

What you're saying, " I clarify through clenched teeth, "is that call boys don't make it far in government.

Art is the business of selling fetishes, sacred relics once touched by genius: what the forger offers the gullible buyer is not art, it is "authenticity

Power, a paycheck and control do sick things to those who have the illusion of possessing it.

Our evening-long tango of stares had my head spinning.

She was ... unhappy. It was part of her, you could not separate her from it. She was sad the way a horse is strong or a bird flies.

If you want someone to feel warm, you dress them in a warm color and put a warm light on them and you get the picture. Sometimes, all that needs pushing a little bit to help tell the story.

A scientist should be the happiest of men.

I am still reeling with delight at the soaring majesty of Norfolk.

Every cocke is proud on his owne dunghill.

To have the management of the mind is a great art, and it may be attained in a considerable degree by experience and habitual exercise.