How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds makes deeds ill done!
How goes it now, sir? This news which is called true is so like an old tale that the verity of it is in strong suspicion.
How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.
How every fool can play upon the word! I think the best grace of wit will shortly turn into silence, and discourse grow commendable in none only but parrots.
His tongue is now a stringless instrument.
His nature is too noble for the world. He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, or Jove for’s power to thunder.
Her immortal part with angels lives.
Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot that it do singe yourself.
He that loves to be flattered is worthy o’ the flatterer.
He that is proud eats up himself: pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle; and whatever praises itself but in the deed, devours the deed in the praise.
He that is giddy thinks the world turns round.
He that doth the ravens feed, yea, providently caters for the sparrow, be comfort to my age.