Good wombs have borne bad sons." -- (Miranda, I:2)
Of all the flowers, me thinks a rose is best.
Music, moody food Of us that trade in love.
The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely what wise men do foolishly.
He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument.
Man, proud man, drest in a little brief authority, most ignorant of what he's most assur d, glassy essence, like an angry ape, plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, as make the angels weep.