This is the very coinage of your brain: this bodiless creation ecstasy.
Men's faults do seldom to themselves appear.
My life, my joy, my food, my ail the world!
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet
Die for adultery! No: The wren goes to't, and the small gilded fly does lecher in my sight
The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. An evil soul producing holy witness Is like a villain with a smiling cheek, A goodly apple rotten at the heart. O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!