What can be happier than for a man, conscious of virtuous acts, and content with liberty, to despise all human affairs?
Though age from folly could not give me freedom, It does from childishness.
I will praise any man that will praise me.
Cry "havoc!" and let loose the dogs of war, That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men, groaning for burial.
No man means evil but the devil, and we shall know him by his horns.
Scarce can I speak, my choler is so great. Oh! I could hew up rocks, and fight with flint.