A good poet's made as well as born.
Greatness of name, in the father, ofttimes helps not forth, but overwhelms the son: They stand too near one another. The shadow kills the growth.
That old bald cheater, Time.
Ambition, like a torrent, never looks back.
Of all wild beasts preserve me from a tyrant; and of all tame a flatterer.
It strikes! one, two, Three, four, five, six. Enough, enough, dear watch, Thy pulse hath beat enough. Now sleep and rest; Would thou could'st make the time to do so too; I'll wind thee up no more.