I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men.
His life was gentle; and the elements So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, THIS WAS A MAN!
Ambition, the soldier's virtue.
You peasant swain! You whoreson malt-horse drudge!
I have no other but a woman's reason: I think him so, because I think him so.
What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god.