They, who know no evil, will suspect none.
Were Guilt is, Rage and Courage doth abound.
I remember, the players have often mentioned it as an honour to Shakespeare, that in his writing (whatsoever he penned) he never plotted out a line. My answer hath been, would he had blotted a thousand.
Indeed there's a woundy luck in names.
Hang sorrow, care'll kill a cat.
Give me a look, give me a face, That makes simplicity a grace Robes loosely flowing, hair as free Such sweet neglect more taketh me Than all the adulteries of art: They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.