And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare.

Like madness, is the glory of this life.

A good leg will fall; a straight back will stoop; a black beard will turn white; a curl'd pate will grow bald; a fair face will wither; a full eye will wax hollow: but a good heart, Kate, is the sun and the moon; or, rather, the sun, and not the moon, — for it shines bright, and never changes, but keeps his course truly.

The native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; and enterprises of great pitch and moment, With this regard, their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action.

I had rather be a toad, and live upon the vapor of a dungeon than keep a corner in the thing I love for others uses.

What e'er thou art, act well thy part.

Come give us a taste of your quality.