This we prescribe, though no physician; Deep malice makes too deep incision; Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed; Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.

Never anything can be amiss, when simpleness and duty tender it.

If I can catch him once upon the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.

They were devils incarnate.

Sigh no more ladies, sigh no more, men were deceivers ever

I have lived long enough. My way of life is to fall into the sere, the yellow leaf, and that which should accompany old age, as honor, love, obedience, troops of friends I must not look to have.

I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways.