Waste not thy time in windy argument but let the matter drop.

So, you are very welcome to our house. It must appear in other ways than words, Therefore, I scant this breathing courtesy.

The soul of this man is his clothes.

So quick bright things come to confusion.​​​​​​

Should the poor be flattered? No; let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp, and crook the pregnant hinges of the knee where thrift may follow fawning.

What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young son, it argues a distemper'd head So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed: Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie; But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign.

If she lives till doomsday, she'll burn a week longer than the whole world.