The small amount of foolery wise men have makes a great show.

How poor are they that have have not patients.

How wayward is this foolish love that, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse and presently, all humble, kiss the rod.

He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.

I have heard of your paintings too, well enough; God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, and make your wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't; it hath made me mad.

Good things should be praised.

I'll speak in a monstrous little voice.