Give it an understanding, but no tongue.

I do beseech you- Though I perchance am vicious in my guess , that your wisdom yet From one that so imperfectly conjects Would take no notice, nor build yourself a trouble Out of his scattering and unsure observance.

All that glisters is not gold; Often have you heard that told.

The weight of this sad time we must obey, Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. The oldest hath borne most: we that are young Shall never see so much, nor live so long.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,Creeps in this petty pace from day to day

Wisely weigh our sorrow with our comfort.

Farewell, fair cruelty.