Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies Which busy care draws in the brains of men; Therefore thou sleep'st so sound.

A smile cures the wounding of a frown.

I say, without characters, fame lives long.

I shall show the cinders of my spirits Through the ashes of my chance.

In thy foul throat thou liest.

Liberty plucks justice by the nose; The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart Goes all decorum.

How is it that the clouds still hang on you?