Listen to many, speak to a few.
This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory.
I am afeard there are few die well that die in battle, for how can they charitably dispose of anything when blood is their argument?
To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods.
Ay, when fowls have no feathers and fish have no fin.
Well, if Fortune be a woman, she's a good wench for this gear.