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One doth not know

How much an ill word may empoison liking.

One man holding troth,

A million fail, confounding oath on oath.

Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
Which we ascribe to heaven.

Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust.

On our quick'st decrees

Th' inaudible and noiseless foot of time

Steals, ere we can effect them.

Oft expectation fails, and most oft there Where it most promises; and oft it hits Where hope is coldest, and despair most sits.

Our rash faults

Make trivial price of serious things we have, Not knowing them until we know their grave.

Our cake's dough on both sides.

One good deed, dying tongueless,

Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that.

Oftentimes, to win us to our harm,

The instruments of darkness tell us truths,
Win us with honest trifles, to betray us
In deepest consequence.

Oftentimes, excusing of a fault

Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse.

One sudden foil should never breed distrust.

One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.

Omission to do what is necessary

Seals a commission to a blank of danger;
And danger, like an ague, subtly taints,
Even then, when we sit idly in the sun.

One bear will not bite another.

O, that men's ears should be

To counsel deaf, but not to flattery!

One fire drives out one fire; one nail, one nail; Rights by rights fouler, strengths by strengths do fail.

Often, to our comfort, shall we find
The sharded beetle in a safer hold
Than is the full-wing'd eagle.

Our courtiers say, all's savage

but at court:

Experience, oh, thou disprov'st report!

Th' imperious seas breed monsters; for the dish, Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish.

Our

very eyes are sometimes like our judgments, blind.

One sorrow never comes, but brings an heir
That may succeed as his inheritor.

Opinion's but a fool, that makes us scan
The outward habit by the inward man.

Our foster-nurse of nature is repose.

One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish.

One desperate grief cures with another's languish.

Our wills and fates do so contrary run,

That our devices still are overthrown.

Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our

own.

Oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize itself
Buys out the law.

Our bodies are our gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners.

Oh, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to stea away their brains!

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