In nature there's no blemish but the mind. None can be called deformed but the unkind.

That you were once unkind befriends me now, And for that sorrow, which I then did feel, Needs must I under my transgression bow, Unless my nerves were brass or hammered steel.

As you from crimes would pardon'd be, Let your indulgence set me free.

Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun; it shines everywhere.

When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.

No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. But I know none, and therefore am no beast.

That affable familiar ghost Which nightly gulls him with intelligence.