I glory, more in the cunning purchase of my wealth than in the glad possession.

Good men but see death, the wicked taste it.

Spread yourself upon his bosom publicly, whose heart you would eat in private.

That old bald cheater, Time.

Confound these ancestors... They've stolen our best ideas!

Let those that merely talk and never think, That live in the wild anarchy of drink

I'll give anything for a good copy now, be it true or false, so it be news.