It strikes! one, two, Three, four, five, six. Enough, enough, dear watch, Thy pulse hath beat enough. Now sleep and rest; Would thou could'st make the time to do so too; I'll wind thee up no more.

True gladness doth not always speak; joy, bred and born but in the tongue, is weak.

Indeed there's a woundy luck in names.

Fortune, thou hadst no deity, if men Had wisdom.

Who casts to write a living line, must sweat.

Our whole life is like a play.

A good dog deserves a good bone.