The wound of peace is surety, Surety secure; but modest doubt is called The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches To th' bottom of the worst.
If you love an addle egg as well as you love an idle head, you would eat chickens i' th' shell.
Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits Make rich the ribs, but backrout quite the wits.
All gold and silver rather turn to dirt, An 'tis no better reckoned but of these Who worship dirty gods.
Two starving men cannot be twice as hungry as one; but two rascals can be ten times as vicious as one.
Danger knows full well that Caesar is more dangerous than he. We are two lions litter’d in one day, and I the elder and more terrible.
Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life.
Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul But I do love thee! and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare.
Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand?
So fair and foul a day i had not seen.
He is the half part of a blessed man, Left to be finished by such as she; And she a fair divided excellence, Whose fullness of perfection lies in him.
Juliet is the east and i am the sun.
They are but beggars that can count their worth.
He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone; At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone.
And will he not come again? And will he not come again? No, no, he is dead. Go to thy deathbed. He never will come again.
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.
Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade.
Tis safter to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, 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
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.
If after every tempest come such calms, May the winds blow till they have waken'd death!
Enough no more; Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents.
The summer's flower is to the summer sweet Though to itself it only live and die
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