* * * * *
Why, she would hang on him,
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on.
* * * * *
Frailty, thy name is woman!
A little month.
* * * * *
Like Niobe, all tears.
* * * * *
My father's brother; but no more like my father
Than I to Hercules.
Act i. Sc. 2.
Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral baked meats
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
Act i. Sc. 2.
In my mind's eye, Horatio.
Act i. Sc. 2.
He was a man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again.
Act i. Sc. 2.
A countenance more
In sorrow than in anger.
Act i. Sc. 3.
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth.
Act i. Sc. 3.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried
Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel.
* * * * *
Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy;
For the apparel oft proclaims the man.
* * * * *
Neither a borrower nor a lender be.
Act i. Sc. 3.
Springes to catch woodcocks.
Act i. Sc.
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