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.

He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit.

Prepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast.

Your gentleness shall force More than your force move us to gentleness.

My master hath been an honorable gentleman; tricks he hath had in him which gentlemen have.

The robbed that smiles, steals something from the thief.

Let us not burden our remembrances with a heaviness that's gone.