Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.
Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in the stones, and good in every thing.
My age is as a lusty winter, frosty, but kindly.
All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and their enterances,
And one man in his time plays many parts.
Kindness, nobler ever than revenge.
Your ‘if’ is the only peace-maker;
much virtue in ‘if.’
If thou remember’st not the slighest folly
That ever love did make thee run into,
Thou hast not lov’d