But to my mind, though I am native here, And to the manner born, it is a custom, More honored in the breach than the observance.
Go to you bosom: Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know.
Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo, The numbers of the feared.
Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents.
Every great drama has its foreshadow.
How soar sweet music is, when time is broke, and no proportion kept!