Words are easy, like the wind; Faithful friends are hard to find.

Men must endure Their going hence, even as their coming hither. Ripeness is all.

False face must hide what the false heart doth know.

But, indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds [vows] disgraced them." Viola: "Thy reason, man?" Feste: "Troth [Truthfully], sir, I can yield you none without words, and words are grown so false, I am loathe to prove reason with them.

To be generous, guiltless, and of a free disposition is to take those things for bird-bolts that you deem cannon-bullets.

So. Lie there, my art.

The devil shall have his bargain; for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs--he will give the devil his due.