In jest, there is truth.
Come the three corners of the world in arms, and we shall shock them.
They are sick that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing.
Love does not see with the eyes, but with the soul.
The Play's the Thing, wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King.
Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides: Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.