When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand.

Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?

Nothing is so common as the wish to be remarkable.(attributed to)

Lechery, lechery; still, wars and lechery: nothing else holds fashion.

The native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; and enterprises of great pitch and moment, With this regard, their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action.

We cannot fight for love, as men may do; we shou'd be woo'd, and were not made to woo

You have but mistook me all the while... I live by bread like you, taste grief, feel want, need friends. Conditioned thus how can you call me king?