Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety. Other women cloy the appetites they feed, but she makes hungry where most she satisfies.
Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety, other women cloy
The breach of custom Is breach of all.
If is a custom, More honor'd in the breach than the observance.
Nature her custom holds, Let shame say what it will.
Nice customs curtsy to great kings.
Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness.