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.
Costard: This was no damsel, neither, sir; she was a virgin.
Ferdinand: It is so varied, too; for it was proclaimed 'virgin.'
Costard: If it were, I deny her virginity: I was taken with a maid.
Dull: Which is the duke's own person?
Berowne: This, fellow: what wouldst?
Dull: I myself reprehend his own person, for I am his grace's tharborough: but I would see his own person in flesh and blood.
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?