What, man! defy the devil: consider, he’s an enemy to mankind.
What we have we prize not to the worth whiles we enjoy it, but being lack’d and lost, why, then we rack the value, then we find the virtue that possession would not show us whiles it was ours.
What is the city but the people?
What I should say My tears gainsay; for every word I speak, Ye see, I drink the water of mine eyes.
What art thou, thou idle ceremony? What kind of god art thou, that suffer’st more Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers?
What are these so wither’d and so wild in their attire, that look not like the inhabitants o’ the earth, and yet are on’t?
What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculties! In form, and moving, how express and admirable! In action, how like an angel! !n apprehension, how like a god!
We have seen better days.
We are time’s subjects, and time bids be gone.
We are not ourselves when nature, being oppress’d, commands the mind to suffer with the body.
We all are men, In our own natures frail, and capable Of our flesh; few are angels.
War is no strife to the dark house and the detested wife.