He that will have a cake out of the wheat must tarry the grinding.

Patience is sottish, and impatience does become a dog that's mad.

Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death.

For mine own part, it was Greek to me.

For what I will, I will, and there an end.

The fringed curtains of thine eye advance, And say what thou seest yond.

My stars shine darkly over me