The Love Of Heaven Makes One Heavenly.

I Am Too Old To Fawn Upon A Nurse, Too Far In Years To Be A Pupil Now.

Rightly To Be Great Is Not To Stir Without Great Argument, But Greatly To Find Quarrel In A Straw When Honour's At The Stake.

There's No More Faith In Thee Than In A Stewed Prune.

But, Indeed, Words Are Very Rascals, Since Bonds [vows] Disgraced Them." Viola: "thy Reason, Man?" Feste: "troth [truthfully], Sir, I Can Yield You None Without Words, And Words Are Grown So False, I Am Loathe To Prove Reason With Them.

Me, Poor Man, My Library Was Dukedom Large Enough.