As a decrepit father takes delight To see his active child do deeds of youth, So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite, Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth.
... I am At war 'twixt will and will not.
Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand?
Use almost can change the stamp of nature.
I am a man more sinned against than sinning
Talking isn't doing. It is a kind of good deed to say well; and yet words are not deeds.