Blueness doth express trueness.
Donne, for not keeping of accent, deserved hanging ... Shakespeare wanted art ... Sharpham, Day, Dekker, were all rogues.
For I loved the man and do honour his memory, on this side of idolatry, as much as any.
'Tis the common disease of all your musicians that they know no mean, to be entreated, either to begin or end.
We are persons of quality, I assure you, and women of fashion, and come to see and to be seen.
He threatens many that hath injured one.
Language most shews a man: Speak, that I may see thee.
The players have often mentioned it as an honour to Shakespeare, that in his writing, whatsoever he penned, he never blotted out [a] line. My answer hath been, "Would he had blotted a thousand."
Talking is the disease of age.
They say princes learn no art truly, but the art of horsemanship. The reason is, the brave beast is no flatterer. He will throw a prince as soon as his groom.