Armado: Love is a familiar; love is a devil; there is no evil angel but love.
Longaville: He weeds the corn, and still lets grow the weeding.
Berowne: And when love speaks, the voice of all the gods
Makes Heaven drowsy with the harmony.
Sir Nathaniel: I praise God for you, sir. Your reasons at dinner have been sharp and sententious; pleasant without scurrility, witty without affection, audacious without impudency, learned without opinion, and strange without heresy.
Ferdinand: How well he's read, to reason against reading!
Dumain: Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding!
Longaville: He weeds the corn and still lets grow the weeding.
Biron: The spring is near when green geese are a-breeding.
Don Adriano de Armado: I will hereupon confess I am in love: and as it is base for a soldier to love, so am I in love with a base wench. If drawing my sword against the humour of affection would deliver me from the reprobate thought of it, I would take Desire prisoner, and ransom him to any French courtier for a new-devised courtesy. I think scorn to sigh: methinks I should outswear Cupid. Comfort, me, boy: what great men have been in love?