Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, Makes the night morning, and the noontide night.

I thank God I am not a woman, to be touched in so many giddy offences as He hath generally taxed their whole their whole sex withal.

There is Throats to be cut, and Works to be done.

Thou hast nor youth nor age But as it were an after dinner sleep Dreaming of both.

Let every eye negotiate for itself and trust no agent.

There's nothing in this world can make me joy: Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man; And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.

A pox o’ your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!