However wickedness outstrips men, it has no wings to fly from God.

The ides of March are come. Soothsayer: Ay, Caesar; but not gone.

Every man has a bag hanging before him, in which he puts his neighbour's faults, and another behind him in which he stows his own.

Tis mad idolatry To make the service greater than the god.

For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood: I only speak right on; I tell you that which you yourselves do know.

See what a ready tongue suspicion hath!

O God, O God, how weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!