My dull brain was wrought with things forgotten.
There's no art to find the mind's construction in the face.
Methinks you are my glass, and not my brother: I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth.
Adversity makes strange bedfellows.
Conscience doth make cowards of us all.
Many strokes, though with a little axe, hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.