Oh! it offends me to the soul to hear a robust periwig-pated fellow, tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings.
In nature there's no blemish but the mind. None can be called deformed but the unkind.
You're in love? Out Out of love? I love someone. She doesn't love me.
Flout 'em, and scout 'em; and scout 'em, and flout 'em; / Thought is free.
A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross.
A plague of sighing and grief! It blows a man up like a bladder.