Give me that man That is not passion’s slave.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice.[Modern text:]Listen to many people, but talk to few.
Frailty, thy name is woman!
Do not spread the compost on the weeds, To make them ranker.
Come, give us a taste of your quality.
Brevity is the soul of wit.
Bow, stubborn knees; and, heart with strings of steel, Be soft as sinews of the newborn babe!
And then it started like a guilty thing Upon a fearful summons.
All that lives must die, Passing through nature to eternity.
