How quickly nature falls into revolt When gold becomes her object! For this the foolish over-careful fathers Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care, Their bones with industry.

Men at some time are masters of their fates.

Not a whit, we defy augury: there's a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all.

Have more than you show, Speak less than you know.

Greatness, once fallen out with fortune, must fall out with men too.

A peevish self-willed harlotry it is. *She’s a stubborn little brat.*

Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought.