Men's faults do seldom to themselves appear.
POLONIUS: What do you read, my lord? HAMLET: Words, words, words.
No profit grows where no pleasure is taken.
And keep you in the rear of your affection, Out of the shot and danger of desire, The chariest maid is prodigal enough If she unmasks her beauty to the moon.
Truth will come to sight; murder cannot be hid long.
Wise men ne'er sit and wail their woes, but presently prevent the ways to wail.