I will not trust you, I, Nor longer stay in your curst company. Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray, My legs are longer though, to run away.

What is a man, if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more. Sure he that made us with such large discourse, looking before and after, gave us not that capability and god-like reason to fust in us unused.

You had measured how long a fool you were upon the ground.

one pain is cured by another. catch some new infection in your eye and the poison of the old one would die.

A gentleman that loves to hear himself talk, will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month.

Make use of time, let not advantage slip.

Ay me! sad hours seem long.