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

In the modesty of fearful duty, I read as much as from the rattling tongue of saucy and audacious eloquence.

'Tis the soldier's life to have their balmy slumbers waked with strife.

Care for us! True, indeed! They ne'er cared for us yet: suffer us to famish, and their storehouses crammed with grain; make edicts for usury, to support usurers; repeal daily any wholesome act established against the rich, and provide more piercing statutes daily to chain up and restrain the poor. If the wars eat us not up, they will; and there's all the love they bear us.

Boldness be my friend.

I do know when the blood burns, how prodigal the soul lends the tongue vows.

Mind your speech a little lest you should mar your fortunes.