What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living? Beatrice: Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick?
The undeserver may sleep when the man of action is called on.
Sometimes, less is more.
Gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder, I gain'd my freedom.
There is no more mercy in him than there is milk in a male tiger.
Thrice is he arm'd that hath his quarrel just, And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.