Nature teaches beasts to know their friends.

Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead are but as pictures: ‘tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil

His forward voice now is to speak well of his friend. His backward voice is to utter foul speeches and to detract.

Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, That not your trespass but my madness speaks.

The moon shines bright. In such a night as this. When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees and they did make no noise, in such a night.

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

You are not worth the dust which the rude wind Blows in your face.