Tears water our growth.

Lawless are they that make their wills their law.

He was met even now As mad as the vex'd sea; singing aloud; Crown'd with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds, With bur-docks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow In our sustaining corn.

His neigh is like the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance enforces homage. He is indeed a horse.

He knows what it's like to strut and fret his hour upon the stage and then be heard no more.

It's easy for someone to joke about scars if they've never been cut.

Violent fires soon burn out themselves, small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; he tires betimes that spurs too fast.