To be a well-favoured man is the gift of fortune; but to write and read comes by nature.

His jest will savour but of shallow wit, When thousands weep, more than did laugh at it.

Benvolio- "By my head, here come the Capulets." Mercutio- "By my heel, I care not.

The coward dies a thousand deaths, the valiant, only once!

No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. But I know none, and therefore am no beast.

Being daily swallowed by men's eyes, They surfeited with honey and began To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much. So, when he had occasion to be seen, He was but as the cuckoo is in June. Heard, not regarded.

Let me be that I am and seek not to alter me.