O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou has no name to be known by, let us call thee devil....O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! that we should, with joy, pleasance revel and applause, transform ourselves into beasts!

He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter.

These words are razors to my wounded heart.

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

Out, damned spot! Out, I say!

I would fain die a dry death.

There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.