A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!
I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking.
An habitation giddy and unsure Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart.
Who knows himself a braggart, Let him fear this; for it will come to pass That every braggart will be found an ass.
And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.
Brevity is the soul of wit.