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. . . .

He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf.

Though it make the unskillful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve.

Love all, trust a few, Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy Rather in power than use; and keep thy friend Under thy own life's key: be check'd for silence, But never tax'd for speech.

Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege; The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge.

No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself, But by reflection, by some other things.

I had rather live with cheese and garlic in a windmill.