Let Those That Merely Talk

I Remember, The Players Have Often Mentioned It As An Honour To Shakespeare, That In His Writing (whatsoever He Penned) He Never Plotted Out A Line. My Answer Hath Been, Would He Had Blotted A Thousand.

That Old Bald Cheater, Time.

It Strikes! One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six. Enough, Enough, Dear Watch, Thy Pulse Hath Beat Enough. Now Sleep And Rest; Would Thou Could'st Make The Time To Do So Too; I'll Wind Thee Up No More.

He That Is Respectless In His Courses Oft Sells His Reputation At Cheap Market.

Fortune, Thou Hadst No Deity, If Men Had Wisdom.