All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.
All that lives must die, Passing through nature to eternity.
All is confounded, all! Reproach and everlasting shame Sits mocking in our plumes.
All hoods make not monks.
Alas! I am a woman, friendless, hopeless.
Action is eloquence.
A substitute shines brightly as a king until a king be by, and then his state empties itself, as doth an inland brook into the main of waters.
A plague upon it when thieves cannot be true one to another!
A peace is of the nature of a conquest; for then both parties nobly are subdued, and neither party loser.
A peace above all earthly dignities, A still and quiet conscience.
A man loves the meat in his youth that he cannot endure in his age.
A little snow, tumbled about, Anon becomes a mountain.
