Never came reformation in a flood.
Let life be short; else shame will be too long.
What art thou, thou idle ceremony? What kind of god art thou, that suffer’st more Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers?
Though patience be a tired mare, yet she will plod.
The empty vessel makes the greatest sound.
That’s a valiant flea that dare eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion.
Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin as self-neglecting.
O, for a muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention!
It must be so; for miracles are ceased; And therefore we must needs admit the means How things are perfected.
If we are marked to die, we are enough to do our country loss; and if to live, the fewer men, the greater share of honor.
I would give all my fame for a pot of ale and safety.
But if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive.
