And many strokes, though with a little axe, hew down and fell the hardest-timbered oak.
And like bright metal on a sullen ground, my reformation, glittering o’er my fault, shall show more goodly and attract more eyes than that which hath no foil to set it off.
And all my mother came into mine eyes and gave me up to tears.
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff.
All things are ready, if our minds be so.
All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.
All is confounded, all! Reproach and everlasting shame sits mocking in our plumes.
All hoods make not monks.
Alas, I am a woman, friendless, hopeless!
Action is eloquence.
A substitute shines brightly as a king until a king be by, and then his state empties itself, as doth an inland brook into the main of waters.
A plague upon it when thieves cannot be true one to another!
