Now is the winter of our discontent.
Thou hast nor youth nor age But as it were an after dinner sleep Dreaming of both.
The tongues of dying men enforce attention like deep harmony.
Liberty plucks justice by the nose; The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart Goes all decorum.
Lechery, lechery; still, wars and lechery: nothing else holds fashion.
Oh, that way madness lies; let me shun that.