All That Glitters Is Not Gold.

I Find My Zenith Doth Depend Upon A Most Auspicious Star, Whose Influence If Now I Court Not, But Omit, My Fortunes Will Ever After Droop.

Though She Be But Little, She Is Fierce!

To Think But Nobly Of My Grandmother: Good Wombs Have Borne Bad Sons.

We Bring Forth Weeds When Our Quick Minds Lie Still.

O Me, You Juggler, You Canker-blossom, You Thief Of Love!