Things done well, And with a care, exempt themselves from fear.
These blessed candles of the night.
There’s such divinity doth hedge a king, That treason can but peep to what it would.
There’s small choice in rotten apples.
There she shook the holy water from her heavenly eyes, and clamour moisten’d.
There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.
There is no darkness, but ignorance.
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
The stroke of death is as a lover’s pinch, Which hurts, and is desired.
The robbed that smiles steals something from the thief.
The miserable have no other medicine, but only hope.
The fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it.
