I have supped full with horrors.

Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will depart unkissed.

Discharge my followers; let them hence away, From Richard's night to Bolingbrooke's fair day.

There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting.

They whose guilt within their bosom lies, imagine every eye beholds their blame.

All offences come from the heart.

Poor and content is rich, and rich enough.