Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy.

Give me that man that is not passion's slave, and I will wear him in my heart's core, in my heart of heart, as I do thee.

I am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the North; he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots as a breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife, 'Fie upon this quiet life! I want work.

He that wants money, means, and content is without three good friends.

Show me a mistress that is passing fair, what doth her beauty serve but as a note where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?

Every man has his fault, and honesty is his.

And send him many years of sunshine days!