And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear, millions of mischiefs.

How far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

Can I go forward when my heart is here?

A plague of sighing and grief! It blows a man up like a bladder.

They do not abuse the king that flatter him. For flattery is the bellows blows up sin; The thing the which is flattered, but a spark To which that blast gives heat and stronger glowing.

Four days will quickly steep themselves in nights; Four nights will quickly dream away the time; And then the moon, like to a silver bow new bent in heaven, shall behold the night of our solemnities.

When we are born we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools.