Passion makes the will lord of the reason.

The better part of valor is discretion, in the which better part I have saved my life.

Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible to feelings as to sight?

All that glitters is not gold.

O good old man, how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweat but for promotion, And having that do choke their service up Even with the having. . . .

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

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.