I care not, a man can die but once; we owe God and death.
Get thee to a nunnery.
I am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the North; he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots as a breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife, 'Fie upon this quiet life! I want work.
Headstrong liberty is lashed with woe.
Sweetest nut hath sourest rind.
No visor does become black villainy so well as soft and tender flattery.