We, ignorant of ourselves, Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers Deny us for our good; so find we profit By losing of our prayers.
The commonwealth of Athens is become a forest of beasts.
They say best men are molded out of faults, And, for the most, become much more the better For being a little bad
Some grief shows much of love, But much of grief shows still some want of wit.
I understand a fury in your words But not your words.
My wits begin to turn.