O! Let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven; keep me in temper; I would not be mad!
I will speak daggers to her, but use none.
No, I will be the pattern of all patience; I will say nothing.
I will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools.
The quality of nothing hath not such need to hide itself
He hath eaten me out of house and home.