O the world is but a word; were it all yours to give it in a breath, how quickly were it gone!
The dullness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits.
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.
It is the cowish terror of his spirit that dares not undertake; he'll not feel wrongs which tie him to an answer.
Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men?
Fie, fie, how frantically I square my talk!