Cease to lament for that thou canst not help; and study help for that which thou lamentest.
This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory.
Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away! By this wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you basket-hilt stale juggler, you!
Gentle and low, an excellent thing in woman.
There is nothing so confining as the prisons of our own perceptions.
Is it not strange, that sheep's guts should hale souls out of men's bodies!