Truly thou art damned, like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side.
Is it not strange, that sheep's guts should hale souls out of men's bodies!
Finish, good lady; the bright day is done, And we are for the Dark.
So wise so young, they say, do never live long.
He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument.
Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead are but as pictures: ‘tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil