Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian.
You are an alchemist; make gold of that.
Yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness.
Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens to the which our wills are gardeners.
How easy it is for the proper-false in woman's waxen hearts to set their forms!
This making of Christians will raise the price of hogs.