All of Creation’s a farce.Man was born as a joke.In his head his reason is buffetedLike wind-blown smoke.Life is a game.Everyone ridicules everyone else.
There's a small choice in rotten apples.
To take arms against a sea of troubles.
Many a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing.
Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind The thief doth fear each bush an officer.
I to myself am dearer than a friend.
Ay every inch a king.
Now I am past all comforts here but prayer.
Assume a virtue if you have it not.
Many strokes though with a little axe Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.
The insolence of office.
Tis but a base ignoble mind That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.
A lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing.
If music be the food of love play on Give me excess of it that surfeiting The appetite may sicken and so die. That strain again! it had a dying fall: O it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound.
Yet do I fear thy nature It is too full o' the milk of human kindness.
True hope is swift and flies with swallow's wings Kings it makes Gods and meaner creatures kings.
For Brutus is an honourable man So are they all all honourable men.
Some are born great some achieve greatness and some have greatness thrust upon 'em.
He does it with a better grace but I do it more natural.
I am wealthy in my friends.