The fewer men, the greater share of honor.
The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish Cut with her golden oars the silver stream And greedily devour the treacherous bait.
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
Life is as tedious as twice-told tale, vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.
Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.
Some men there are love not a gaping pig, some that are mad if they behold a cat, and others when the bagpipe sings I the nose cannot contain their urine.