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.

Liberty plucks justice by the nose; The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart Goes all decorum.

For mine own part, it was Greek to me.

Let's go hand in hand, not one before another.

This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong, to love that well which thou must leave ere long

The king is but a man, as I am; the violet smells to him as it doth to me; the element shows to him as it doth to me; all his senses have but human conditions; his ceremonies laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a man; and though his affections are higher mounted than ours, yet, when they stoop, they stoop with the like wing.

Fruits that blossom first will first be ripe.