I had rather live with cheese and garlic in a windmill.

No matter where; of comfort no man speak: Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth

He's of the colour of the nutmeg. And of the heat of the ginger.... he is pure air and fire; and the dull elements of earth and water never appear in him, but only in patient stillness while his rider mounts him; he is indeed a horse, and all other jades you may call beasts.

For this relief, much thanks

What a pretty thing man is when he goes in his doublet and hose and leaves off his wit!

I desire you in friendship, and I will one way or other make you amends.

I thank you all and here dismiss you all, and to the love and favor of my country commit myself, my person, and the cause.