Clown: You have said, sir. To see this age! A sentence is but a
cheveril glove to a good wit: how quickly the wrong side may be turned
outward!
Viola: Nay, that's certain: they that dally nicely with words may
quickly make them wanton.
Clown: I would therefore my sister had had no name, sir.
Viola: Why, man?
Clown: Why, sir, her name's a word; and to dally with that word
might make my sister wanton. But indeed, words are very rascals since bonds
disgraced them.
Viola: Thy reason, man?
Clown: Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words; and words
are grown so false, I am loath to prove reason with them.
-- William Shakespeare. Twelfth Night, or What You Will
(1601) Act III. Scene I.
Feste. To see this age! A sentence is
but a cheveril glove to a good wit: how quickly the
wrong side may be turned outward!
-- William Shakespeare.
"Twelfth Night, Or What You Will"
Act III, Scene 1.
Feste.
words are grown so false, I am loath to prove
reason with them.
-- William Shakespeare.
"Twelfth Night, Or What You Will"
Act III, Scene 1.
Feste. I am indeed not
her fool, but her corrupter of words.
-- William Shakespeare.
"Twelfth Night, Or What You Will"
Act III, Scene 1.