Men's Faults Do Seldom To Themselves Appear.

Love, Which Teacheth Me That Thou And I Am One

Fit For The Mountains And The Barbarous Caves, Where Manners Ne'er Were Preached.

I Know No Ways To Mince It In Love, But Directly To Say - I Love You

Come What Sorrow Can, It Cannot Countervail The Exchange Of Joy, That One Short Minute Gives Me In Her Sight

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)