No, I will be the pattern of all patience; I will say nothing.

Best men oft are moulded out of faults.

Watch tonight, pray tomorrow. Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, all the titles of good fellowship come to you!

My hands are of your color, but I shame to wear a heart so white.

Rightly to be great Is not to stir without great argument, But greatly to find quarrel in a straw When honour's at the stake.

Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

Nothing is so common as the wish to be remarkable.(attributed to)