I am a true laborer: I earn that I eat, get that I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness, glad of other men's good, content with my harm.
Thou art a Castilian King urinal!
What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, But poisoned flattery?
Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to this vice of lying!
Tears water our growth.
All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.