Nothing comes amiss, so money comes withal.

Is he on his horse? O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony!

O, let me kiss that hand! KING LEAR: Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality.

Life every man holds dear; but the dear man holds honor far more precious dear than life.

The old folk, time's doting chronicles.

This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven.

What win I, if I gain the thing I seek? A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy. Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week? Or sells eternity to get a toy? For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy? Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown, Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down?