When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.

'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried neat's tongue, you bull's pizzle, you stock-fish! O for breath to utter what is like thee! you tailor's-yard, you sheath, you bowcase; you vile standing-tuck!

What my tongue dares not that my heart shall say

Affection, mistress of passion, sways it to the mood of what it likes or loathes.

There's no art to find the mind's construction in the face.

But whate'er I am, nor I nor any man that but man is, With nothing shall be pleased 'til he be eased With being nothing.

Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian or an ordinary man has; but I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit.