When I have plucked the rose, I cannot give it vital growth again, It needs must wither. I'll smell it on the tree.

The whirligig of time brings in his revenges.

It is not vain glory for a man and his glass to confer in his own chamber.

Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me, I'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain me

You have but mistook me all the while... I live by bread like you, taste grief, feel want, need friends. Conditioned thus how can you call me king?

If ever thou be'st bound in thy scarf and beaten, thou shalt find what it is to be proud of thy bondage.

To unpathed waters, undreamed shores.