Who is't can read a woman?
Be the innocent flower, but be the serpent under it.
I must to the barber's, mounsieur; for methinks I am marvellous hairy about the face; and I am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me I must scratch.
Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, That not your trespass but my madness speaks.
And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study 17 Virtue, and that part of philosophy 18 Will I apply that treats of happiness 19 By virtue specially to be achieved.
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.