Marry, sir, they praise me and make an ass of me. Now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass; so that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge of myself, any by my friends I am abused; so that, conclusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives make your two affirmatives, why then, the worse for my friends, and the better for my foes.

Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odour and in hue Could make me any summer's story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew; Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; They were but sweet, but figures of delight, Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.

He that is truly dedicated to war hath no self-love

. . . it is impossible you should take true root but by the fair weather that you make yourself it is needful that you frame the season of your own harvest.

Words to deeds cold breath gives.

Lend less than you owe.

Vile worm, thou wast o'erlook'd even in thy birth.