Sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.

Lord Polonius: What do you read, my lord? Hamlet: Words, words, words. Lord Polonius: What is the matter, my lord? Hamlet: Between who? Lord Polonius: I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.

Pardon, gentles all, the flat unraised spirits that have dared on this unworthy scaffold to bring forth so great an object.

Can one desire too much of a good thing?

O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, / That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!

The brain may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree.

The bird that hath been limed in a bush, with trembling wings misdoubteth every bush.