Though this be madness, yet there is method in't.

From women's eyes this doctrine I derive: They sparkle still the right Promethean fire; They are the books, the arts, the academes, That show, contain and nourish all the world.

Is it not strange, that sheep's guts should hale souls out of men's bodies!

O, let him pass. He hates him That would upon the rack of this tough world Stretch him out longer.

The time is out of joint : O cursed spite, that ever I was born to set it right!

Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth. O these deliberate fools!

And do as adversaries do in law, strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends.