Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut.

Thou ominous and fearful owl of death.

I thought my heart had been wounded with the claws of a lion.

He hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink; his intellect is not replenished; he is only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts. (Shakespeare, Love's Labor's Lost, IV)

Care I for the limb, the thews, the stature, bulk, and big assemblance of a man! Give me the spirit.

Let us not burden our remembrances with a heaviness that's gone.

Fill all thy bones with aches.