We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day.

For 'tis the sport to have the engineer Hoist with his own petar; and't shall go hard But I will delve one yard below their mines And blow them at the moon.

I am not bound to please thee with my answer.

The dullness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits.

I am wrapped in dismal thinking.

As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, / I must not look to have; but, in their stead, / Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath, / Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not" (5.3.25-28).

I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.