Make the doors upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the casement; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole; stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney.

Grief best is pleased with grief's society.

Why, then the world ’s mine oyster, Which I with sword will open.

I can no other answer make, but, thanks, and thanks.

True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings.

My charity is outrage, life my shame; And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage!

Things may serve long, but not serve ever.