“Thou most lying slave,Whom stripes may move, not kindness!”

“This is in thee a nature but infected;A poor unmanly melancholy sprungFrom change of fortune. Why this spade? this place?This slave-like habit? and these looks of care?Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft;Hug their diseased perfumes, and have forgotThat ever Timon was. Shame not these woods,By putting on the cunning of a carper.Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thriveBy that which has undone thee: hinge thy knee,And let his very breath, whom thou'lt observe,Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain,And call it excellent: thou wast told thus;Thou gavest thine ears like tapsters that bid welcomeTo knaves and all approachers: 'tis most justThat thou turn rascal; hadst thou wealth again,Rascals should have 't. Do not assume my likeness.”

“The difference between a pebble and a mountain lies in whom you ask to move it.”

“Thou art my father, thou my author, thou my being gav'st me; whom should I obey but thee, whom follow?”

“thou great star! what would be thy happiness if thou hadst not those for whom thou shinest!”

“...for her whom in life thou dids't abhor, in death thou shalt adore”