Good Lord, for alliance! Thus goes every one to the world but I, and I am sunburnt; I may sit in a corner and cry "Heigh-ho for a husband!"
Fortune now To my heart's hope!
Hereafter, in a better world than this, I shall desire more love and knowledge of you.
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time, And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death.
The best persuaded of himself, so crammed, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is his grounds of faith that all that look on him love him.
Praising what is lost Makes the remembrance dear.
What's aught but as 'tis valued?
Had I but time—as this fell sergeant, Death, Is strict in his arrest—O, I could tell you— But let it be.
Sweet are the uses of adversity Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head.
Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou dost, and do it with unwashed hands too.