Good old grandsire ... we shall be joyful of thy company.

Hal, if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse.

I am bewitched with the rogue's company. If the rascal have not given me medicines to make me love him, I'll be hanged.

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

Haply for I am black, And have not those soft parts of conversation That chamberers have; or for I am declined Into the vale of years—yet that’s not much— She’s gone. I am abused, and my relief Must be to loathe her. O curse of marriage, That we can call these delicate creatures ours And not their appetites! I had rather be a toad And live upon the vapor of a dungeon Than keep a corner in the thing I love For others’ uses. Yet ’tis the plague of great ones; Prerogatived are they less than the base. ’Tis destiny unshunnable, like death.

Children wish fathers looked but with their eyes; fathers that children with their judgment looked; and either may be wrong.

Take all the swift advantage of the hours.