… many a man hath more hair than wit.
O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!
I have no spur
To prick the sides of my intent, but only
Vaulting ambition, which o’erleaps itself
And falls on th’ other.
The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.
In the corrupted currents of this world
Offence’s gilded hand may shove by justice,
And oft ‘tis seen the wicked prize itself
Buys out the law.
How well he’s read, to reason against reading!
March on, march on, since we are up in arms,
If not to fight with foreign enemies,
Yet to beat down these rebels here at home.
I will praise any man that will praise me.
If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.
Dost thou not suspect my place? Dost thou not
suspect my years? O that he were here to write me
down an ass! But masters, remember that I am an
ass, though it be not written down, yet forget not
that I am an ass.
… those sparks of life
That should be in a Roman you do want,
Or else you use not.
… too low for a high praise, too
brown for a fair praise, and too little for a great praise.
My father’s love is enough to honor him. Enough.
Speak no more of him; you’ll be whipped for
taxation one of these days.
A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch
Uncapable of pity, void and empty
From any dram of mercy.
Give me my robe. Put on my crown. I have
Immortal longings in me.