Alas, their love may be call'd appetite. No motion of the liver, but the palate
Life... is a paradise to what we know of death.
If thou remeber'st not the slightest folly that ever love did make thee run into, thou hast not lov'd
Awake, awake, English nobility! Let not sloth dim your horrors new-begot.
What, man, defy the devil. Consider, he's an enemy to mankind.
But it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, which, by often rumination, wraps me in the most humorous sadness.