Relationships and Family

Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral bak’d meats Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven Ere I had ever seen that day.

Why, she would hang on him, As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on.

Frailty, thy name is woman!

So excellent a king; that was, to this, Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother That he might not beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly.

It was a lover and his lass, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, That o’er the green corn-field did pass, In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding; Sweet lovers love the spring.

I am falser than vows made in wine.

Down on your knees, And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man’s love.

The wounds invisible That love’s keen arrows make.

From the east to western Ind, No jewel is like Rosalind.

Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind As man’s ingratitude.

If you remember’st not the slightest folly That ever love did make thee run into, Thou hast not lov’d.

When love begins to sicken and decay, It useth an enforced ceremony. There are no tricks in plain and simple faith.

This was the most unkindest cut of all.

See what a rent the envious Casca made.

Et tu, Brute?

You are my true and honorable wife, As dear to me as are the ruddy drops That visit my sad heart.

Done to death by slanderous tongues.

O! what authority and show of truth Can cunning sin cover itself withal.

Friendship is constant in all other things Save in the office and affairs of love: Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues; Let every eye negotiate for itself And trust no agent.

Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more. Men were deceivers ever; One foot in sea, and one on shore, To one thing constant never.

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he today that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother.

Trust none; For oaths are straws, men’s faiths are wafer-cakes, And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck.

O England! model to thy inward greatness, Like little body with a mighty heart, What mightst thou do, that honor would thee do, Were all thy children kind and natural!

A habitation giddy and unsure Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart.