The worst thing an old man can be is a lover.

No flattery, boy! an honest man cannot live by it; it is a little, sneaking art, which knaves use to cajole and soften fools withal.

Oh woman! lovely woman! nature made thee To temper man; we had been brutes without you; Angels are painted fair to look like you; There's in you all that we believe of heaven, Amazing brightness, purity, and truth, Eternal joy, and everlasting love.

Let us embrace, and from this very moment vow an eternal misery together.

Who's a prince or beggar in the grave?

Clocks will go as they are set, but man, irregular man, is never constant, never certain.

Honest men are the soft easy cushions on which knaves repose and fatten.