A sentence is but a cheveril glove to a good wit: how quickly the wrong side may be turned outward!
Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth.
Where having nothing, nothing can he lose.
When we are born, we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools.
What need we any spur but our own cause to prick us to redress?
We know what we are, but know not what we may be.
Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful.
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
Two may keep counsel, putting one away?
Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say it lightens.
To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal, but sorrow flouted at is double death.
These blessed candles of the night.
