Time ... thou ceaseless lackey to eternity.

O me, you juggler, you canker-blossom, you thief of love!

Youth is full of sport, age's breath is short; youth is nimble, age is lame; Youth is hot and bold, age is weak and cold; Youth is wild, and age is tame.

A man cannot make him laugh; but that's no marvel; he drinks no wine.... If I had a thousand sons, the first human principle I would teach them should be, to forswear thin potations and to addict themselves to sack.

You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize As the dead carcasses of unburied men That do corrupt my air, I banish you; And here remain with your uncertainty!

The gallantry of his grief did put me into a towering passion.

I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking: I could well wish courtesy would invent some other custom of entertainment.