O, that our fathers would applause our loves, To seal our happiness with hteir consents!

And to be merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour. BEATRICE No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then there was a star danced, and under that was I born.

Many that are not mad have, sure, more lack of reason.

I am afeard there are few die well that die in battle, for how can they charitably dispose of anything when blood is their argument?

I was born free as Caesar; so were you

I had rather live with cheese and garlic in a windmill.

Ambition, the soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of loss, than gain which darkens him.