Frailty, thy name is woman!
Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.
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.
‘Tis too much proved—that with devotion’s visage And pious action we do sugar o’er The devil himself.