Time's the king of men; he's both their parent, and he is their grave, and gives them what he will, not what they crave.

This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are sick in fortune,--often the surfeit of our own behavior,--we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars: as if we were villains by necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and treachers, by spherical predominance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers, by an enforced obedience of planetary influence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on: an admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to lay his goatish disposition to the charge of a star.

Throw physic to the dogs; I'll none of it.

Who is it that can tell me who I am?

Farewell, good Salisbury, and good luck go with thee!

Scratching could not make it worse, an't were such a face as yours were.

If people knew how much I hated them, they'd love me for holding it in.