Here comes Monseiur Le Beau. Rosalind: With his mouth full of news. Celia: Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young. Rosalind: Then shall we be news-crammed. Celia: All the better; we shall be the more marketable.

Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself are much condemned to have an itching palm.

Fortune brings in some boats that are not steered.

Give obedience where 'tis truly owed.

There's small choice in rotten apples.

Good words are better than bad strokes.

To gild refined gold, to paint the lily... is wasteful and ridiculous excess