Mine honour is my life; both grow in one; Take honour from me, and my life is done.
By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me.
Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds.
He was not so much brain as earwax
Nothing can come of nothing.
Be advised; Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot That it do singe yourself: we may outrun, By violent swiftness, that which we run at, And lose by over-running. Know you not, The fire that mounts the liquor til run o'er, In seeming to augment it wastes it?