Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow.

To be merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour.

For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood: I only speak right on; I tell you that which you yourselves do know.

All that glitters is not gold.

One man in his time plays many parts.

Now the melancholy God protect thee, and the tailor make thy garments of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is opal.

There's beggary in love that can be reckoned