Oh, that way madness lies; let me shun that.
Woe to that land that's governed by a child.
Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; Lillies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
The rain, it raineth every day.
If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?