Neither a borrower nor a lender be.

A beggar's book outworths a noble's blood.

And why not death rather than living torment? To die is to be banish'd from myself; And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her Is self from self: a deadly banishment!

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come. And let my liver rather heat with wine, than my heart cool with mortifying groans.

Men are April when they woo, December when they wed.

Have you not love enough to bear with me, when that rash humor which my mother gave me makes me forgetful.

Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?