Though patience be a tired mare, yet she will plod.

Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands. Curtsied when you have and kissed The wild waves whist, Foot is featly here and there; And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. Ariel's song, scene II, Act I

You lack the season of all natures, sleep.

There's her cousin, an she were not possessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in beauty as the first of May doth the last of December.

Within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king Keeps Death his court.

Travelers never did lie, though fools at home condemn them.

He that is thy friend indeed, he will help you in your need.