Zounds! sir, you are one of those that will not serve God if the devil bid you.

Then was I as a tree whose boughs did bend with fruit; but in one night, a storm or robbery, call it what you will, shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, and left me bare to weather.

The best is yet to come.

I came, saw, and overcame.

Madam, you have bereft me of all words, Only my blood speaks to you in my veins.

Glory is like a circle in the water, which never ceaseth to enlarge itself, till, by broad spreading, it disperse to naught.

Throw physic to the dogs; I'll none of it.