Death rock me asleep.

Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will, much more a man who hath any honesty in him.

Winter, which, being full of care, makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more rare.

A nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them.

They whose guilt within their bosom lies, imagine every eye beholds their blame.

... by indirections find directions out.

I fill up a place, which may be better... when I have made it empty.