Knit your hearts with an unslipping knot.

Assume a virtue, if you have it not. That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat; Of habits devil, is angel yet in this.

Set your heart at rest. The fairyland buys not the child of me.

I will not trust you, I, Nor longer stay in your curst company. Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray, My legs are longer though, to run away.

O God, I could be bound in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space – were it not that I have bad dreams.

In a false quarrel there is no true valor.

There should be hours for necessities, not for delights; times to repair our nature with comforting repose, and not for us to waste these times.