Yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness.

So, you are very welcome to our house. It must appear in other ways than words, Therefore, I scant this breathing courtesy.

What a pretty thing man is when he goes in his doublet and hose and leaves off his wit!

Is it possible that love should of a sudden take such a hold?

GLOUCESTER: Yet so much is my poverty of spirit, So mighty and so many my defects, As I had rather hide me from my greatness, Being a bark to brook no mighty sea, Than in my greatness covet to be hid, And in the vapour of my glory smother'd. But God be thanked. . . .

Rumor is a pipe Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures.

They that stand high have many blasts to shake them.