Like a man made after supper of a cheese-paring: when a' was naked, he was, for all the world, like a forked radish, with a head fantastically carved upon it with a knife.

There's no art to find the mind's construction in the face.

For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood: I only speak right on; I tell you that which you yourselves do know.

So wise so young, they say, do never live long.

The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

The golden age is before us, not behind us.

These blessed candles of the night.