Maids want nothing but husbands, and when they have them, they want everything.
POLONIUS: What do you read, my lord? HAMLET: Words, words, words.
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.
Thou hast the most unsavoury similes.
When the age is in, the wit is out
Ay, when fowls have no feathers and fish have no fin.