One woman is fair, yet I am well; another is wise, yet I am well; another virtuous, yet I am well; but till all graces be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace.

There's no more faith in thee than in a stewed prune.

All that glitters is not gold.

There are no tricks in plain and simple faith.

What is the city but the people?

Rightly to be great Is not to stir without great argument, But greatly to find quarrel in a straw When honour's at the stake.

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?