No visor does become black villainy so well as soft and tender flattery.
When devils will the blackest sins put on They do suggest at first with heavenly shows
Now is the winter of our discontent.
Trifles light as air are to the jealous confirmations strong as proofs of holy writ.
Yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness.
My dear, dear Lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation; that away Men are but gilded loan or painted clay... Mine honor is my life; both grow in one; Take honor from me, and my life is done.