Men's vows are women's traitors

And what’s he then that says I play the villain?

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. . . .

How many a holy and obsequious tear hath dear religious love stolen from mine eye, as interest of the dead!

Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.

And will he not come again? And will he not come again? No, no, he is dead. Go to thy deathbed. He never will come again.

Time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let Time try.