Truth is truth to the end of reckoning.

This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so, it is a chance which does redeem all sorrows that ever I have felt.

Temptation: the fiend at my elbow.

If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge.

We do not keep the outward form of order, where there is deep disorder in the mind.

Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute.

Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh.