Sometimes when we are labeled, when we are branded our brand becomes our calling.

The attempt and not the deed confounds us.

Assume a virtue, if you have it not. That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat; Of habits devil, is angel yet in this.

A plague of sighing and grief! It blows a man up like a bladder.

He was met even now As mad as the vex'd sea; singing aloud; Crown'd with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds, With bur-docks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow In our sustaining corn.

Miracles are ceased; and therefore we must needs admit the means, how things are perfected.

The bird that hath been limed in a bush, with trembling wings misdoubteth every bush.