Small things make base men proud.

If I were a woman I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that liked me and breaths that I defied not

I love you more than word can wield the matter, Dearer than eye-sight, space and liberty

Let still woman take An elder than herself: so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husband's heart, For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner to be lost and warn, Than women's are.

But here's the joy: my friend and I are one, Sweet flattery!

A friend should bear his friend's infirmities.

Thrust your head into the public street, to gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces.