Hang sorrow, care'll kill a cat.
Of all wild beasts preserve me from a tyrant; and of all tame a flatterer.
He threatens many that hath injured one.
The day For whose returns, and many, all these pray; And so do I.
I remember, the players have often mentioned it as an honour to Shakespeare, that in his writing (whatsoever he penned) he never plotted out a line. My answer hath been, would he had blotted a thousand.
I perceive affection makes a fool Of any man too much the father.