Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets, but gold that's put to use more gold begets.

Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.

[S]ince brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief.

For 'tis the sport to have the engineerHoist with his own petard.

This day's black fate on more days doth depend; This but begins the woe, others must end.

Thou hast the most unsavoury similes.

Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible to feelings as to sight?