Sleep knits up the raveled sleeve of care.

These are the forgeries of jealousy; And never, since the middle summer's spring, Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, By paved fountain or by rushy brook, Or in the beached margent of the sea, To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, But with thy brawls thou hast disturbed our sport.

Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, That you would have me seek into myself For that which is not in me?

A knavish speech sleeps in a fool's ear.

The extreme parts of time extremely forms all causes to the purpose of his speed.

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

Pardon's the word to all.