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.

And be these juggling friends no more believ'd, That palter with us in a double sense; That keep the word of promise to our ear And break it to our hope.

Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.

A happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story

I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking: I could well wish courtesy would invent some other custom of entertainment.

... by indirections find directions out.

Macduff: What three things does drink especially provoke? Porter: Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine.