The head is not more native to the heart.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph.
True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings.
There's many a man hath more hair than wit.
He doth nothing but talk of his horses.
Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow.