What have we here? a man or a fish? dead or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fishlike smell; a kind of not of the newest poor-John. A strange fish!

Thou art a boil, a plague sore, an embossed carbuncle in my corrupted blood.

Love laughs at locksmiths.

Gold were as good as twenty orators.

There is no sure foundation set on blood, No certain life achieved by others' death.

We cannot all be masters.

'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed, When not to be, receives reproach of being, And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed, Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing.