In sooth I know not why I am so sad. It wearies me, you say it wearies you; But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, I am to learn.

And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear, millions of mischiefs.

A very little thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience.

The latter end of a fray, and the beginning of a feast, Fits a dull fighter, and a keen guest.

No legacy is so rich as honesty.

What made me love thee? let that persuade thee, there's something extraordinary in thee

Thou lump of foul deformity!