The small amount of foolery wise men have makes a great show.

You speak an infinite deal of nothing.

Have more than thou showest, Speak less than thou knowest, Lend less than thou owest.

O comfort-killing night, image of hell, Dim register and notary of shame, Black stage for tragedies and murders fell, Vast sin-concealing chaos, nurse of blame!

A violet in the youth of primy nature, Forward, not permanent--sweet, not lasting; The perfume and suppliance of a minute; No more.

it is not enough to speak, but to speak truee

He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit.