There is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail.

The sense of death is most in apprehension, And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies.

This is his uncle's teaching, this Worcester, Malevolent to you In all aspects, Which makes him prune himself and bristle up The crest of youth against your dignity.

I am misanthropos, and hate mankind, For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, That I might love thee something.

Hell is empty and all the devils are here.

O, teach me how you look, and with what art You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart."-Helena

Oh, God! I have an ill-divining soul!