O time, thou must untangle this, not I. It is too hard a knot for me t'untie.
And too soon Marred are those so early Made.
He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument.
We are such stuff that dreams are made of.
The devil is a gentleman.
O, swear not by the moon, the fickle moon, the inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circle orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable