After life's fitful fever he sleeps well. Treason has done his worst. Nor steel nor poison, malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing can touch him further.
If she lives till doomsday, she'll burn a week longer than the whole world.
I would we were all of one mind, and one mind good.
Scratching could not make it worse, an't were such a face as yours were.
While thou livest keep a good tongue in thy head.
Why, all delights are vain; but that most vain, Which, with pain purchas'd, doth inherit pain.