A Plague Of Sighing And Grief! It

Romeo: Courage, Man; The Hurt Cannot Be Much. Mercutio: No, 'tis Not So Deep As A Well, Nor So Wide As A Church-door; But 'tis Enough, 'twill Serve. Ask For Me Tomorrow, And You Shall Find Me A Grave Man.

The Empty Vessel Makes The Loudest Sound.

How Now, Wit! Whither Wander You?

So All My Best Is Dressing Old Words New.

The Art Of Our Necessities Is Strange That Can Make Vile Things Precious.