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Thy Husband Is Thy Lord, Thy Life, Thy Keeper, Thy Head, Thy Sovereign; One That Cares For Thee, And For Thy Maintenance Commits His Body To Painful Labour Both By Sea And Land, To Watch The Night In Storms, The Day In Cold, Whilst Thou Liest Warm At Home, Secure And Safe; And Craves No Other Tribute At Thy Hands But Love, Fair Looks And True Obedience; Too Little Payment For So Great A Debt.

-William Shakespeare

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Thy Husband Is Thy

William Shakespeare

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Thy Husband Is Thy Lord, Thy Life, Thy Keeper, Thy Head, Thy Sovereign; One That Cares For Thee, And For Thy Maintenance Commits His Body To Painful Labour Both By Sea And Land, To Watch The Night In Storms, The Day In Cold, Whilst Thou Liest Warm At Home, Secure And Safe; And Craves No Other Tribute At Thy Hands But Love, Fair Looks And True Obedience; Too Little Payment For So Great A Debt.

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For You And I Are Past Our Dancing Days.

My Joy Is Death- Death, At Whose Name I Oft Have Been Afeard, Because I Wish'd This World's Eternity.

What's In A Name? That Which We Call A Rose By Any Other Name Would Smell As Sweet.

O! That A Man Might Know The End Of This Day's Business, Ere It Come; But It Sufficeth That The Day Will End, And Then The End Is Known.

I Were Better To Be Eaten To Death With A Rust Than To Be Scoured To Nothing With Perpetual Motion.

Let The End Try The Man.

Do Not Plunge Thyself Too Far In Anger.

All Places That The Eye Of Heaven Visits Are To A Wise Man Ports And Happy Havens. Teach Thy Necessity To Reason Thus; There Is No Virtue Like Necessity.

Flesh And Blood, You, Brother Mine, That Entertain'd Ambition, Expell'd Remorse And Nature, Who, With Sebastian- Whose Inward Pinches Therefore Are Most Strong- Would Here Have Kill'd Your King, I Do Forgive Thee, Unnatural Though Thou Art.

If Her Breath Were As Terrible As Her Terminations, There Were No Living Near Her, She Would Infect To The North Star!

I'll Go Find A Shadow, And Sigh Till He Come" (phebe)

Lord Polonius: What Do You Read, My Lord? Hamlet: Words, Words, Words. Lord Polonius: What Is The Matter, My Lord? Hamlet: Between Who? Lord Polonius: I Mean, The Matter That You Read, My Lord.

What, All So Soon Asleep! I Wish Mine Eyes Would, With Themselves, Shut Up My Thoughts.

A Fusty Nut With No Kernel.

Speak, What Trade Art Thou? Why, Sir, A Carpenter. Where Is Thy Leather Apron And Thy Rule? What Does Thou With Thy Best Apparel On?

Here Feel We But The Penalty Of Adam, The Seasons' Difference, As The Icy Fang And Churlish Chiding Of The Winter's Wind, Which, When It Bites And Blows Upon My Body, Even Till I Shrink With Cold, I Smile.

How Much Better Is It To Weep At Joy Than To Joy At Weeping?

Princes Have But Their Titles For Their Glories, An Outward Honor For An Inward Toil; And, For Unfelt Imaginations, They Often Feel A World Of Restless Cares.

A Horse, A Horse, My Kingdom For A Horse!

What's The News? None, My Lord, But That The World's Grown Honest, Then Is Doomsday Near.

Ingratitude Is Monstrous; And For The Multitude To Be Ingrateful Were To Make A Monster Of The Multitude; Of Which We Being Members, Should Bring Ourselves To Be Monstrous Members.

That Which Hath Made Them Drunk Hath Made Me Bold; What Hath Quenched Them Hath Given Me Fire.

Besides, Our Nearness To The King In Love Is Near The Hate Of Those Love Not The King.

Things Sweet To Taste Prove In Digestion Sour.

When Remedies Are Past, The Griefs Are Ended By Seeing The Worst, Which Late On Hopes Depended.

Love, Whose Month Is Ever May, Spied A Blossom Passing Fair, Playing In The Wanton Air: Through The Velvet Leaves The Wind, All Unseen Can Passage Find; That The Lover, Sick To Death, Wish'd Himself The Heaven's Breath.

The Art Of Our Necessities Is Strange That Can Make Vile Things Precious.

Extreme Fear Can Neither Fight Nor Fly.

Corruption Wins Not More Than Honesty. Still In Thy Right Hand Carry Gentle Peace, To Silence Envious Tongues.

There Was A Star Danced, And Under That Was I Born.

There Is A History In All Men's Lives, Figuring The Nature Of The Times Deceased, The Which Observed, A Man May Prophesy, With A Near Aim, Of The Main Chance Of Things As Yet Not Come To Life, Which In Their Seeds And Weak Beginnings Lie Intreasured.

If Money Go Before, All Ways Do Lie Open.

We Bring Forth Weeds When Our Quick Minds Lie Still.

If He Be So Resolved, I Can O'ersway Him; For He Loves To Hear That Unicorns May Be Betrayed With Trees And Bears With Glasses, Elephants With Holes, Lions With Toils, And Men With Flatterers

Men At Some Time Are Masters Of Their Fates.

No Longer Mourn For Me When I Am Dead Than You Shall Hear The Surly Sullen Bell Give Warning To The World That I Am Fled From This Vile World, With Vilest Worms To Dwell.

Give Obedience Where 'tis Truly Owed.

Orpheus With His Lute Made Trees, And The Mountain Tops That Freeze, Bow Themselves, When He Did Sing; To His Music, Plants And Flowers Ever Sprung; As Sun And Showers There Had Made A Lasting Spring. Every Thing That Heard Him Play, Even The Billows Of The Sea, Hung Their Heads, And Then Lay By. In Sweet Music Is Such Art, Killing Care And Grief Of Heart Fall Asleep, Or Hearing, Die.

Romeo: I Dreamt A Dream Tonight. Mercutio: And So Did I. Romeo: Well, What Was Yours? Mercutio: That Dreamers Often Lie. Romeo: In Bed Asleep While They Do Dream Things True.

Those, That With Haste Will Make A Mighty Fire, Begin It With Weak Straws.

Time, Whose Millioned Accidents Creep In Betwixt Vows, And Change Decrees Of Kings, Tan Sacred Beauty, Blunt The Sharpest Intents, Divert Strong Minds To The Course Of Altering Things.

O That My Tongue Were In The Thunder's Mouth! Then With Passion Would I Shake The World.

Feed On Her Damask Cheek: She Pined In Thought, And With A Green And Yellow Melancholy She Sat Like Patience On A Monument, Smiling At Grief

It Is Certain That Either Wise Bearing Or Ignorant Carriage Is Caught As Men Take Diseases, One Of Another.

The Big Round Tears Cours'd One Another Down His Innocent Nose, In Piteous Chase.

I Cannot, Nor I Will Not Hold Me Still; My Tongue, Though Not My Heart, Shall Have His Will.

No Man Means Evil But The Devil, And We Shall Know Him By His Horns.

I Thank God I Am As Honest As Any Man Living That Is An Old Man And No Honester Than I.

Come, Swear It, Damn Thyself, Lest, Being Like One Of Heaven, The Devils Themselves Should Fear To Seize Thee; Therefore Be Double-damned, Swear,--thou Art Honest.

Come My Spade. There Is No Ancient Gentlemen But Gardeners, Ditchers, And Grave-makers; They Hold Up Adam's Profession.

Thy Best Of Rest Is Sleep, And That Thou Oft Provok'st; Yet Grossly Fear'st Thy Death, Which Is No More.

Gratiano Speaks An Infinite Deal Of Nothing, More Than Any Man In All Venice. His Reasons Are As Two Grains Of Wheat Hid In Two Bushels Of Chaff: You Shall Seek All Day Ere You Find Them, And When You Have Them, They Are Not Worth The Search.

Is There No Pity Sitting In The Clouds, That Sees Into The Bottom Of My Grief?

And, If You Love Me, As I Think You Do, Let's Kiss And Part, For We Have Much To Do

If There Were A Sympathy In Choice, War, Death, Or Sickness, Did Lay Siege To It, Making It Momentary As A Sound, Swift As A Shadow, Short As Any Dream, Brief As The Lightning In The Collied Night That, In A Spleen, Unfolds Both Heaven And Earth, And Ere A Man Hath Power To Say 'behold!' The Jaws Of Darkness Do Devour It Up; So Quick Bright Things Come To Confusion.

World, World, O World! But That Thy Strange Mutations Make Us Hate Thee/ Life Would Not Yield To Age.

Time Shall Unfold What Plaited Cunning Hides: Who Cover Faults, At Last Shame Them Derides.

Sweet Flowers Are Slow And Weeds Make Haste.

I'll Be Supposed Upon A Book, His Face Is The Worst Thing About Him.

Measure For Measure

Fit For The Mountains And The Barbarous Caves, Where Manners Ne'er Were Preached.

Though Men Can Cover Crimes With Bold, Stern Looks, Poor Women's Faces Are Their Own Faults' Books.

Gloucester: I Do Not Know That Englishman Alive With Whom My Soul Is Any Jot At Odds, More Than The Infant That Is Born To-night: I Thank My God For My Humility.

What's Done Can't Be Undone.

This Thing Of Darkness I Acknowledge Mine.

Two Loves I Have, Of Comfort And Despair, Which Like Two Spirits Do Suggest Me Still: The Better Angel Is A Man Right Fair, The Worser Spirit A Woman Coloured Ill.

One Woman Is Fair, Yet I Am Well; Another Is Wise, Yet I Am Well; Another Virtuous, Yet I Am Well; But Till All Graces Be In One Woman, One Woman Shall Not Come In My Grace.

What Should Such Fellows As I Do Crawling Between Earth And Heaven?

Hamlet And Ophelia

Don Pedro - (...)'in Time The Savage Bull Doth Bear The Yoke.' Benedick - The Savage Bull May, But If Ever The Sensible Benedick Bear It, Pluck Off The Bull's Horns And Set Them In My Forehead, And Let Me Be Vildly Painted; And In Such Great Letters As They Writes, 'here Is Good Horse For Hire', Let Them Signify Under My Sign, 'here You May See Benedick The Married Man.

The Prize Of All Too Precious You.

They Have Been Grand-jurymen Since Before Noah Was A Sailor

The Cunning Livery Of Hell.

It Is The Mind That Makes The Body Rich; And As The Sun Breaks Through The Darkest Clouds, So Honor Peereth In The Meanest Habit.

I Have Bought Golden Opinions From All Sorts Of People.

The Plants Look Up To Heaven, From Whence They Have Their Nourishment.

With This Special Observance, That You O'erstep Not The Modesty Of Nature. For Anything So Overdone Is From The Purpose Of Playing, Whose End, Both At The First And Now, Was And Is, To Hold, As 'twere, The Mirror Up To Nature.

He Is Well Paid That Is Well Satisfied.

Let Those That Play Your Clowns Speak No More Than Is Set Down For Them.

The Even Mead, That Erst Brought Sweetly Forth The Freckled Cowslip, Burnet, And Green Clover, Wanting The Scythe, All Uncorrected, Rank, Conceives By Idleness, And Nothing Teems But Hateful Docks, Rough Thistles, Kecksies, Burrs, Losing Both Beauty And Utility.

The Cat Will Mew, And Dog Will Have His Day.

Fight To The Last Gasp.

Well, God's Above All; And There Be Souls Must Be Saved, And There Be Souls Must Not Be Saved.

How Ill White Hairs Become A Fool And Jester!

All Is Well Ended If This Suit Be Won. That You Express Content; Which We Will Pay, With Strife To Please You, Day Exceeding Day.

The Sweetest Honey Is Loathsome In His Own Deliciousness, And In The Taste Confounds The Appetite: Therefore Love Moderately— Long Love Doth So.

I Have Trod A Measure, I Have Flattered A Lady, I Have Been Politic With My Friend, Smooth With Mine Enemy.

Something Is Rotten In The State Of Denmark.

Disease And Death

I Swear Again, I Would Not Be A Queen For All The World.

Affection, Mistress Of Passion, Sways It To The Mood Of What It Likes Or Loathes.

I Am In Blood Stepp'd In So Far, That, Should I Wade No More, Returning Were As Tedious As Go O'er.

To Gild Refined Gold, To Paint The Lily... Is Wasteful And Ridiculous Excess

Sound Trumpets! Let Our Bloody Colours Wave! And Either Victory, Or Else A Grave.

You Draw Me, You Hard-hearted Adamant; But Yet You Draw Not Iron, For My Heart Is True As Steel: Leave You Your Power To Draw, And I Shall Have No Power To Follow You.

The Bitter Past, More Welcome Is The Sweet.

For Brutus, As You Know, Was Caesar's Angel: Judge, O You Gods, How Dearly Caesar Loved Him! This Was The Most Unkindest Cut Of All

Like Madness, Is The Glory Of This Life.

You Are Made Rather To Wonder At The Things You Hear Than To Work Any.

When To The Sessions Of Sweet Silent Thought I Summon Up Remembrance Of Things Past, I Sigh The Lack Of Many A Thing I Sought.

O Excellent! I Love Long Life Better Than Figs.

Women May Fail When There Is No Strength In Man

O No, Thy Love Though Much, Is Not So Great, It Is My Love That Keeps Mine Eye Awake, Mine Own True Love That Doth My Rest Defeat, To Play The Watchman Ever For Thy Sake. For Thee Watch I, Whilst Thou Dost Wake Elsewhere, From Me Far Off, With Others All Too Near.

Love Denied Blights The Soul We Owe To God.

The Man That Hath No Music In Himself, Nor Is Not Moved With Concord Of Sweet Sounds, Is Fit For Treasons, Stratagems And Spoils.

O, Here Will I Set Up My Everlasting Rest, And Shake The Yoke Of Inauspicious Stars From This World-wearied Flesh. Eyes, Look Your Last! Arms, Take Your Last Embrace! And, Lips, O You The Doors Of Breath, Seal With A Righteous Kiss A Dateless Bargain To Engrossing Death!

Rumor Is A Pipe Blown By Surmises, Jealousies, Conjectures.

I That Please Some, Try All, Both Joy And Terror Of Good And Bad, That Makes And Unfolds Error.

I Love Thee So, That, Maugre All Thy Pride, Nor Wit Nor Reason Can My Passion Hide. Do Not Extort Thy Reasons From This Clause, For That I Woo, Thou Therefore Hast No Cause But Rather Reason Thus With Reason Fetter, Love Sought Is Good, But Given Unsought Better.

The Weariest And Most Loathed Worldly Life, That Age, Ache, Penury And Imprisonment Can Lay On Nature Is A Paradise, To What We Fear Of Death.

Sometimes When We Are Labeled, When We Are Branded Our Brand Becomes Our Calling.

The Clock Upbraids Me With The Waste Of Time.

Of All The Flowers, Me Thinks A Rose Is Best.

I Sat Upon A Promontory, And Heard A Mermaid, On A Dolphin's Back, Uttering Such Dulcet And Harmonious Breath, That The Rude Sea Grew Civil At Her Song; And Certain Stars Shot Madly From Their Spheres, To Hear The Sea-maid's Music.

Life's Uncertain Voyage.

Haply For I Am Black, And Have Not Those Soft Parts Of Conversation That Chamberers Have; Or For I Am Declined Into The Vale Of Years—yet That’s Not Much— She’s Gone. I Am Abused, And My Relief Must Be To Loathe Her. O Curse Of Marriage, That We Can Call These Delicate Creatures Ours And Not Their Appetites! I Had Rather Be A Toad And Live Upon The Vapor Of A Dungeon Than Keep A Corner In The Thing I Love For Others’ Uses. Yet ’tis The Plague Of Great Ones; Prerogatived Are They Less Than The Base. ’tis Destiny Unshunnable, Like Death.

Be Great In Act, As You Have Been In Thought.

Methought I Heard A Voice Cry 'sleep No More! Macbeth Does Murder Sleep', The Innocent Sleep, Sleep That Knits Up The Ravell'd Sleeve Of Care, The Death Of Each Day's Life, Sore Labour's Bath, Balm Of Hurt Minds, Great Nature's Second Course, Chief Nourisher In Life's Feast...

Crack'd In Pieces By Malignant Death.

Sweet Mercy Is Nobility's True Badge.

To Be Direct And Honest Is Not Safe.

But I Will Wear My Heart Upon My Sleeve For Daws To Peck At: I Am Not What I Am.

Teeth Hadst Thou In Thy Head When Thou Wast Born, To Signify Thou Camest To Bite The World.

All Of Creation’s A Farce. Man Was Born As A Joke. In His Head His Reason Is Buffeted Like Wind-blown Smoke. Life Is A Game. Everyone Ridicules Everyone Else. But He Who Has The Last Laugh Laughs Longest.

Fondling,' She Saith, 'since I Have Hemm'd Thee Here Within The Circuit Of This Ivory Pale, I'll Be A Park, And Thou Shalt Be My Deer; Feed Where Thou Wilt, On Mountain Or In Dale: Graze On My Lips, And If Those Hills Be Dry, Stray Lower, Where The Pleasant Fountains Lie.

Tis Much When Sceptres Are In Children's Hands, But More When Envy Breeds Unkind Division: There Comes The Ruin, There Begins Confusion.

When He Is Best, He Is A Little Worse Than A Man; And When He Is Worst, He Is Little Better Than A Beast.

It Is Not In The Stars To Hold Our Destiny But In Ourselves.

And Simple Truth Miscalled Simplicity

Are There No Stones In Heaven But What Serves For Thunder?

Do You Set Down Your Name In The Scroll Of Youth, That Are Written Down Old With All The Characters Of Age?

The Seasons Alter: Hoary-headed Frosts Fall In The Fresh Lap Of The Crimson Rose.

The Good I Stand On Is My Truth And Honesty.

Truth And Honesty

Report Of Fashions In Proud Italy Whose Manners Still Our Tardy-apish Nation Limps After In Base Imitation

I Can See His Pride Peep Through Each Part Of Him.

Tis The Mind That Makes The Body Rich.

Like A Man Made After Supper Of A Cheese-paring: When A' Was Naked, He Was, For All The World, Like A Forked Radish, With A Head Fantastically Carved Upon It With A Knife.

These Are The Forgeries Of Jealousy; And Never, Since The Middle Summer's Spring, Met We On Hill, In Dale, Forest, Or Mead, By Paved Fountain Or By Rushy Brook, Or In The Beached Margent Of The Sea, To Dance Our Ringlets To The Whistling Wind, But With Thy Brawls Thou Hast Disturbed Our Sport.

Beggar That I Am, I Am Even Poor In Thanks, But I Thank You; And Sure, Dear Friends, My Thanks Are Too Dear A Halfpenny.

'tis Dangerous To Take A Cold, To Sleep, To Drink; But I Tell You, My Lord Fool, Out Of This Nettle, Danger, We Pluck This Flower, Safety.

Good Wine Is A Good Familiar Creature If It Be Well Used.

All Pity Choked With Custom Of Fell Deeds.

In Nature There's No Blemish But The Mind. None Can Be Called Deformed But The Unkind.

He That Wants Money, Means, And Content Is Without Three Good Friends.

What Are You Doing Sister? / Killing Swine.

Should All Despair That Have Revolted Wives, The Tenth Of Mankind Would Hang Themselves.

As You From Crimes Would Pardon'd Be, Let Your Indulgence Set Me Free.

There's Small Choice In Rotten Apples.

From This Day To The Ending Of The World, But We In It Shall Be Remembered- We Few, We Happy Few, We Band Of Brothers; For He To-day That Sheds His Blood With Me Shall Be My Brother; Be He Ne’er So Vile, This Day Shall Gentle His Condition; And Gentlemen In England Now-a-bed Shall Think Themselves Accurs’d They Were Not Here, And Hold Their Manhoods Cheap Whiles Any Speaks That Fought With Us Upon Saint Crispin’s Day.

A Breath Thou Art, Servile To All The Skyey Influences.

Be As Thou Wast Wont To Be. See As Thou Wast Wont To See.

The Purest Treasure Mortal Times Can Afford Is A Spotless Reputation.

We Are Advertis'd By Our Loving Friends.

Lost Friendship

Hath Romeo Slain Himself? Say Thou But Ay, And That Bare Vowel Ay Shall Poison More Than The Death-darting Eye Of Cockatrice. I Am Not I,if There Be Such An Ay, Or Those Eyes Shut,that Make Thee Answer Ay: If He Be Slain Say Ay,or If Not,no: Brief Sounds,determine Of My Weal Or Woe.

Care I For The Limb, The Thews, The Stature, Bulk, And Big Assemblance Of A Man! Give Me The Spirit.

Is Twenty Hundred Kisses Such A Trouble?

Anger Is Like A Full Hot Horse, Who Being Allowed His Way, Self-mettle Tires Him.

I Care Not, A Man Can Die But Once; We Owe God And Death.

Slander, Whose Whisper Over The World's Diameter, As Level As The Cannon To Its Blank, Transports Its Poisoned Shot.

Don Pedro Come, Lady, Come; You Have Lost The Heart Of Signior Benedick. Beatrice Indeed, My Lord, He Lent It Me Awhile; And I Gave Him Use For It, A Double Heart For His Single One: Marry, Once Before He Won It Of Me With False Dice, Therefore Your Grace May Well Say I Have Lost It. Don Pedro You Have Put Him Down, Lady, You Have Put Him Down. Beatrice So I Would Not He Should Do Me, My Lord, Lest I Should Prove The Mother Of Fools.

What, Shall One Of Us, That Struck For The Foremost Man Of All This World But For Supporting Robbers--shall We Now Contaminate Our Fingers With Base Bribes, And Sell The Mighty Space Of Our Large Honors For So Much Trash As May Be Grasped Thus?

Who Can Be Patient In Extremes?

Travelers Must Be Content.

I Am That Merry Wanderer Of The Night.

Dead Poets Society

Eternity Was In Our Lips And Eyes, Bliss In Our Brows' Bent; None Our Parts So Poor But Was A Race Of Heaven.

His Life Was Gentle; And The Elements So Mixed In Him, That Nature Might Stand Up And Say To All The World, This Was A Man!

The Earth, That Is Nature's Mother, Is Her Tomb.

Heaven Would That She These Gifts Should Have, And I To Live And Die Her Slave.

I Am Now Of All Humors That Have Showed Themselves Humors Since The Old Days Of Goodman Adam To The Pupil Age Of This Present Twelve O'clock At Midnight.

But Indeed An Old Religious Uncle Of Mine Taught Me To Speak, Who Was In His Youth An Inland Man; One That Knew Courtship Too Well, For There He Fell In Love. I Have Heard Him Read Many Lectures Against It; And I Thank God I Am Not A Woman, To Be Touched With So Many Giddy Offenses As He Hath Generally Taxed Their Whole Sex Withal.

Mine Eyes Were Not In Fault, For She Was Beautiful; Mine Ears, That Heard Her Flattery; Nor My Heart, That Thought Her Like Her Seeming. It Had Been Vicious To Have Mistrusted Her.

What Can Be Happier Than For A Man, Conscious Of Virtuous Acts, And Content With Liberty, To Despise All Human Affairs?

My Love Admits No Qualifying Dross

Be Collected. No More Amazement. Tell Your Piteous Heart There's No Harm Done.

The Sweat Of Industry Would Dry And Die, But For The End It Works To.

No Evil Lost Is Wailed When It Is Gone.

O, How I Faint When I Of You Do Write, Knowing A Better Spirit Doth Use Your Name, And In The Praise Thereof Spends All His Might To Make Me Tongue-tied Speaking Of Your Fame.

Small Cheer And Great Welcome Makes A Merry Feast.

Enjoy'd No Sooner But Despised Straight, Past Reason Hunted, And No Sooner Had Past Reason Hated

Of Chastity, The Ornaments Are Chaste.

I Humbly Do Beseech Of Your Pardon, For Too Much Loving You

Now Entertain Conjecture Of A Time When Creeping Murmur And The Poring Dark Fills The Wide Vessel Of The Universe.

Tis Now The Very Witching Time Of Night, When Churchyards Yawn And Hell Itself Breathes Out Contagion To This World.

Denmark In Hamlet

And Thence From Athens Turn Away Our Eyes To Seek New Friends And Stranger Companies.

And Do As Adversaries Do In Law, Strive Mightily, But Eat And Drink As Friends.

The Wounds Invisible That Love's Keen Arrows Make.

So Holy And So Perfect Is My Love, And I In Such A Poverty Of Grace, That I Shall Think It A Most Plenteous Crop To Glean The Broken Ears After The Man That The Main Harvest Reaps.

Adversity's Sweet Milk, Philosophy.

... By Indirections Find Directions Out.

There Is Thy Gold, Worse Poison To Men's Souls, Doing More Murder In This Loathsome World, Than These Poor Compounds That Thou Mayst Not Sell.

Beware The Leader Who Bangs The Drums Of War In Order To Whip The Citizenry Into A Patriotic Fervor.

Cupid Is A Knavish Lad, Thus To Make Poor Females Mad.

A Scar Nobly Got Is A Good Livery Of Honor.

My Love Is Thine To Teach; Teach It But How, And Thou Shalt See How Apt It Is To Learn. Any Hard Lesson That May Do Thee Good.

You Told A Lie, An Odious Damned Lie; Upon My Soul, A Lie, A Wicked Lie.

And Send Him Many Years Of Sunshine Days!

The Love That Follows Us Sometime Is Our Trouble, Which Still We Thank As Love.

God Send Everyone Their Heart's Desire!

They Are But Beggars That Can Count Their Worth.

A Good Man's Fortune May Grow Out At Heels.

If Thou Wilt Lend This Money, Lend It Not As To Thy Friends; For When Did Friendship Take A Breed For Barren Metal Of His Friend?

Merchant Of Venice

What Must Be Shall Be.

Yet Do I Fear Thy Nature; It Is Too Full O' The Milk Of Human Kindness.

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