Simply the thing that I am shall make me live.

Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss.

Many strokes, though with a little axe, hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.

So distribution should undo excess, and each man have enough.

Be advised; Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot That it do singe yourself: we may outrun, By violent swiftness, that which we run at, And lose by over-running. Know you not, The fire that mounts the liquor til run o'er, In seeming to augment it wastes it?

Reputation, reputation, reputation! O, I ha' lost my reputation, I ha' lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial!

Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining.