Sound trumpets! Let our bloody colours wave! And either victory, or else a grave.

We will all laugh at gilded butterflies.

Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.

A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a corpulent; of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage; and, as I think, his age some fifty, or, by'r Lady, inclining to threescore; and now I remember me, his name is Falstaff.

thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce.

O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains!" - Cassio (Act II, Scene iii)

A very honest woman but something given to lie