So, you are very welcome to our house. It must appear in other ways than words, Therefore, I scant this breathing courtesy.

We all are men, in our own natures frail, and capable of our flesh; few are angels.

A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a corpulent; of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage; and, as I think, his age some fifty, or, by'r Lady, inclining to threescore; and now I remember me, his name is Falstaff.

There's rosemary, that's for remembrance. Pray you, love, remember.

This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are sick in fortune,--often the surfeit of our own behavior,--we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars: as if we were villains by necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and treachers, by spherical predominance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers, by an enforced obedience of planetary influence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on: an admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to lay his goatish disposition to the charge of a star.

In nature there's no blemish but the mind. None can be called deformed but the unkind.

Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground.