Memory, Of All The Powers

I Know No Disease Of The Soul But Ignorance, A Pernicious Evil, The Darkener Of Man's Life, The Disturber Of His Reason, And Common Confounder Of Truth.

Drink To Me Only With Thine Eyes, And I Will Pledge With Mine; Or Leave A Kiss But In The Cup And I'll Not Look For Wine.

[the Play] Is Like To Be A Very Conceited Scurvy One, In Plain English.

Poets Are Far Rarer Birds Than Kings.

Honor's A Good Brooch To Wear In A Man's Hat At All Times.