Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.

The let-alone lies not in your good will.

This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons peas; And utters it again when God doth please: He is wit's pedler; and retails his wares.

Oh God! that one might read the book of fate, And see the revolution of the times Make mountains level, and the continent, Weary of solid firmness, melt itself Into the sea.

A man I am cross'd with adversity.

So fair and foul a day i had not seen.

Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind.