Now, infidel, I have you on the hip!
If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not As to thy friends; for when did friendship take A breed for barren metal of his friend?
Now is the winter of our discontent.
Do all men kill the things they do not love?
Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.
How many things by season seasoned are To their right praise and true perfection!
All things that are, are with more spirit chased than enjoyed.
These blessed candles of the night.