Heaven give you many, many merry days.
To beguile the time, look like the time. Bear welcome in your eye, your hand, your tongue.
Rude am I in my speech, And little blessed with the soft phrase of peace.
She is a woman, therefore to be won.
Friendship's full of dregs.
O how wretched is that poor man that hangs on princes favors! There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, that sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, more pangs and fears than wars or women have, and when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, never to hope again.