How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
Sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.
Thou art a very ragged Wart.
Were all the letters sun, I could not see one.
I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking; so full of valor that they smote the air, for breathing in their faces, beat the ground for kissing of their feet.
If one good deed in all my life I did, I do repent it from my very soul.