I see that the fashion wears out more apparel than the man.

Comfort's in heaven, and we are on the earth

There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats, For I am armed so strong in honesty That they pass by me as the idle wind

For such things as you, I can scarce think there's any, ye're so slight.

Come give us a taste of your quality.

Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears: But yet It is our trick; nature her custom holds, Let shame say what it will: when these are gone, The woman will be out. — Adieu, my lord! I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze, But that this folly drowns it.

Show me a mistress that is passing fair, what doth her beauty serve but as a note where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?