Why, thou owest god a death.

A very scurvy fellow.

Be not afraid of greatness.

Were I the Moor I would not be Iago. In following him I follow but myself; Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, But seeming so for my peculiar end. For when my outward action doth demonstrate The native act and figure of my heart In compliment extern, ’tis not long after But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at. I am not what I am

Your lordship, though not clean past your youth, have yet some smack of age in you, some relish of the saltiness of time.

Faster than spring-time showers comes thought on thought.

I have been studying how I may compare This prison where I live unto the world; And, for because the world is populous, And here is not a creature but myself, I cannot do it. Yet I'll hammer it out.