Strikes deeper, grows with more pernicious root.

This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; a foolish extravagant spirit full of forms, figures, shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions; these are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater, and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion.

Now, infidel, I have you on the hip!

Crack'd in pieces by malignant Death.

Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, Makes the night morning, and the noontide night.

Too much to know is to know naught but fame.

The means that heaven yields must be embraced, and not neglected; else, if heaven would, and we will not heaven's offer, we refuse the proffered means of succor and redress.