To show an unfelt sorrow is an office Which the false man does easy.

With devotions visage And pious action we do sugar o'er The devil himself.

Such tricks hath strong imagination, That, if it would but apprehend some joy, It comprehends some bringer of that joy; Or in the night, imagining some fear, How easy is a bush supposed a bear!

Happy are they that hear their detractions and can put them to mending.

How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is To have a thankless child!

Honour travels in a strait so narrow Where one but goes abreast.

This above all: to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.

What's gone and what's past help Should be past grief.

Trifles light as air Are to the jealous confirmations strong As proofs of holy writ.

I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions?