I am misanthropos, and hate mankind, For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, That I might love thee something.

To have seen much and to have nothing is to have rich eyes and poor hands.

To be merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour.

Under the greenwood tree, Who loves to lie with me And tune his merry note, Unto the sweet bird's throat; Come hither, come hither, come hither. Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.

The good I stand on is my truth and honesty.

This most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o-erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire.

A man should be what he seems.