I Do Desire We May

Nay, Had I Pow'r, I Should Pour The Sweet Milk Of Concord Into Hell, Uproar The Universal Peace, Confound All Unity On Earth.

Suspicion Shall Be All Stuck Full Of Eyes.

Olivia: What's A Drunken Man Like, Fool? Feste: Like A Drowned Man, A Fool, And A Madman: One Draught Above Heat Makes Him A Fool; The Second Mads Him; And A Third Drowns Him.

Care Is No Cure, But Rather Corrosive, For Things That Are Not To Be Remedied.

A Young Man Married Is A Man That's Marred.