To think but nobly of my grandmother: Good wombs have borne bad sons.
By innocence I swear, and by my youth, I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth, And that no woman has, nor never none Shall mistress be of it save I alone.
Security is the chief enemy of mortals.
He was not so much brain as earwax
Let me not live, after my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff of younger spirits.
I can again thy former light restore, Should I repent me: but once put out thy light, Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature, I know not where is that Promethean heat That can thy light relume.