Warpaint
Go, prick thy face, and over-red thy fear,
Thou lily-liver’d boy.
-Macbeth,
Act V, Scene iii

Go, prick thy face, and over-red thy fear,
Thou lily-liver’d boy.
-Macbeth,
Act V, Scene iii

A fickle maid full pale,
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,
Storming her world with sorrow’s wind and rain.
–A Lover’s Complaint

You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate
As reek o’ the rotten fens, whose loves I prize
As the dead carcasses of unburied men
That do corrupt my air.
–Coriolanus,
Act III, Scene iii
I have done a thousand dreadful things
As willingly as one would kill a fly,
And nothing grieves me heartily indeed
But that I cannot do ten thousand more.
-Titus Andronicus,
Act V Scene i
For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog,
That I might love thee something.
-Timon of Athens,
Act IV, Scene iii

Peace, you mumbling fool!
Utter your gravity o’er a gossip’s bowl;
For here we need it not.
-Romeo and Juliet,
Act III, Scene v

May one be pardoned and retain th’ offense?
In the corrupted currents of this world,
Offense’s gilded hand may shove by justice,
And oft ’tis seen the wicked prize itself
Buys out the law.
–Hamlet,
Act III, Scene iii