I cannot do it without comp[u]ters.
Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return to plague the inventor.
I have unclasp'd to thee the book even of my secret soul.
None can cure their harms by wailing them.
Have you not love enough to bear with me, when that rash humor which my mother gave me makes me forgetful.
It's easy for someone to joke about scars if they've never been cut.