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'T is better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perked up in a glistering grief, And wear a golden sorrow.
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'Tis neither here nor there.
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A hit, a very palpable hit.
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A horse a horse my kingdom for a horse
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A jest's prosperity lies in the ear Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Of him that makes it.
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A little more than kin, and less than kind.
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A man in all the world's new fashion planted, That hath a mint of phrases in his brain.
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A plague o' both your houses
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A wretched soul, bruised with adversity, We bid be quiet when we hear it cry But were we burdened with like weight of pain, As much or more we should ourselves complain.
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Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety.
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Quotes
