A Devil, a born Devil on whose nature, nurture can never stick, on whom my pain, humanly taken, all lost, quite lost.

Learning is but an adjunct to ourself, And where we are our learning likewise is.

Rumor is a pipe Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures.

By Heaven, my soul is purg'd from grudging hate; And with my hand I seal my true heart's love

The better part of valor is discretion, in the which better part I have saved my life.

Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, a face without a heart?

Angels and ministers of grace defend us.