William Shakespeare

Simply the thing that I am shall make me live.

God mark thee to His grace! Thou was the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed. And might I live to see thee married once, I have my wish.

Give obedience where 'tis truly owed.

He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument.

But most it is presumption in us when the help of heaven we count the act of men.

Angels and ministers of grace defend us!_x000D_ _x000D_ Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd,_x000D_ _x000D_ Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell,_x000D_ _x000D_ Be thy intents wicked, or charitable,_x000D_ _x000D_ Thou com'st in such a questionable shape,_x000D_ _x000D_ That I will speak to thee.

There is no vice so simple but assumes some mark of virtue on his outward parts.

Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway, meeting the check of such another day.

The tongues of dying men enforce attention like deep harmony.

Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues we write in water.

They whose guilt within their bosom lies, imagine every eye beholds their blame.

He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause.

That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold; What hath quenched them hath given me fire.

But to my mind, though I am native here, And to the manner born, it is a custom, More honored in the breach than the observance.

Better a little chiding than a great deal of heartbreak.

Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice Hath often stilled my brawling discontent.

The apparel oft proclaims the man.

The soul of this man is his clothes.

A nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them.

Tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil.

This is the third time; I hope good luck lies in odd numbers. Away; go. They say there is divinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, or death.