The weakest kind of fruit drops earliest to the ground.

All the world's a stage.

Lord, I could not endure a husband with a beard on his face! I had rather lie in the woolen.

Art thou afeard To be the same in thine own act and valour As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem, Letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would,' Like the poor cat i' the adage?

How far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

And it is very much lamented,... That you have no such mirrors as will turn Your hidden worthiness into your eye That you might see your shadow.

Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to Heaven.