What is a man, if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more.
How much salt water thrown away in waste/ To season love, that of it doth not taste.
O tiger's heart wrapped in a woman's hide!
We have some salt of our youth in us.
When our actions do not, our fears make us traitors.
For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground, and tell sad stories of the death of kings... All murdered; for within the hollow crown that rounds the mortal temples of a king, keeps Death his court... and with a little pin bores through his castle wall, and farewell king!