When I was at home, I was in a better place, but travellers must be content.
What’s past is prologue.
What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
What’s done cannot be undone.
What, man, defy the devil? Consider, he’s an enemy to mankind.
What we have we prize not to the worth whiles we enjoy it, but being lacked and lost, why, then we rack the value, then we find the virtue that possession would not show us whiles it was ours.
What is the city but the people?
What I should say, my tears gainsay: for every word I speak ye see I drink the water of mine eyes.
What art thou, thou idle ceremony? What kind of god art thou, that suffer’st more of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers?
What are these so withered, and so wild in their attire, that look not like th’ inhabitants o’ th’ earth, and yet are on’t?
What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension, how like a god.
We have seen better days.