“Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow worldLike a Colossus; and we petty menWalk under his huge legs, and peep aboutTo find ourselves dishonourable graves.”

“Suppose the ambassador from the French comes back:Tells Harry that the King doth offer him Katherine his daughter;and with her to dowry some petty and unprofitable dukedoms:The offer likes not;”

“Know the grave doth gape for thee thrice wider than for other men.”

“When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk: he trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes. ”

“Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man.”

“The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.”

“honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on? How then? Can honour set a leg? No: or a arm? No: or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery then? No. What is honour? A word. What is that then? Air. A trim reckoning! - Who hath it? He that died o‘ Wednesday? Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. ‘Tis insensible, then? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it. Therefore I‘ll have none of it: honour is a mere scutcheon: - and so ends my catechism.”