I long To hear the story of your life, which must Take the ear strangely.

A good wit will make use of anything.

Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt.

The sense of death is most in apprehension, And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies.

My father names me Autolycus, who being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles.

Patience is sottish, and impatience does become a dog that's mad.

There's a time for all things.