He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter.
At this hour Lie at my mercy all mine enemies.
The gallantry of his grief did put me into a towering passion.
I am not mad; I would to heaven I were! For then, 'tis like I should forget myself; O, if I could, what grief should I forget!
The best is yet to come.
Many a true word hath been spoken in jest.