We must be brief when traitors brave the field.

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

O God, O God, how weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!

I will make a Star-chamber matter of it.

This fell sergeant, Death, Is strict in his arrest.

'Tis one thing to be tempted, another thing to fall.

Well, God's above all; and there be souls must be saved, and there be souls must not be saved.