Beware the ides of March.

I care not, a man can die but once; we owe God and death.

Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back.

A good heart is the sun and the moon; or, rather, the sun and not the moon, for it shines bright and never changes.

Avaunt, you cullions!

Captain of our fairy band, Helena is here at hand, And the youth, mistook by me, Pleading for a lover's fee. Shall we their fond pageant see? Lord, what fools these mortals be!

Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile; Filths savour but themselves.