Do not speak like a death's-head, do not bid me remember mine end.
Blow, blow, thou winter wind Thou art not so unkind, As man's ingratitude.
Thou knowest, winter tames man, woman, and beast.
They are fairies; he that speaks to them shall die. I'll wink and couch; no man their works must eye.
Policy sits above conscience.
How is it that the clouds still hang on you?