Every subject's duty is the Kings, but every subject's soul is his own.
Two women placed together makes cold weather.
For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground, and tell sad stories of the death of kings... All murdered; for within the hollow crown that rounds the mortal temples of a king, keeps Death his court... and with a little pin bores through his castle wall, and farewell king!
Rumor is a pipe Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures.
Twas a clever quibble. Here, a garment for it.
There is a history in all men's lives.