All that glisters is not gold; Often have you heard that told.

We cannot all be masters, nor all masters Cannot be truly followed.

Honour travels in a strait so narrow Where one but goes abreast.

There is no love-broker in the world can more prevail in man's commendation with woman than report of valor.

I understand a fury in your words But not your words.

A violet in the youth of primy nature, Forward, not permanent--sweet, not lasting; The perfume and suppliance of a minute; No more.

Thou whoreson, senseless villain!