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
What we determine we often break. Purpose is but the slave to memory.
Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief.
I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching.
There's small choice in rotten apples.
He is deformed, crooked, old and sere, Ill-faced, worse bodied, shapeless everywhere; Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind; Stigmatical in making, worse in mind.