Conceit In Weakest Bodies Works The Strongest.

Here Comes Monseiur Le Beau. Rosalind: With His Mouth Full Of News. Celia: Which He Will Put On Us, As Pigeons Feed Their Young. Rosalind: Then Shall We Be News-crammed. Celia: All The Better; We Shall Be The More Marketable.

I Think Thy Horse Will Sooner Con An Oration Than Thou Learn A Prayer Without Book.

The Fortune Of Us That Are The Moon's Men Doth Ebb And Flow Like The Sea, Being Governed, As The Sea Is, By The Moon.

Ornament Is But The Guiled Shore To A Most Dangerous Sea.

The Heart Hath Treble Wrong When It Is Barr'd The Aidance Of The Tongue.