one pain is cured by another. catch some new infection in your eye and the poison of the old one would die.

Thou whoreson zed! Thou unnecessary letter! My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall of a jakes with him. *all cheer for Shakespearean insults*

And it is very much lamented,... That you have no such mirrors as will turn Your hidden worthiness into your eye That you might see your shadow.

Yea from the table of my memory I'll wipe away all trivial fond records.

Truth is truth to the end of reckoning.

But whate'er I am, nor I nor any man that but man is, With nothing shall be pleased 'til he be eased With being nothing.

They that stand high have many blasts to shake them.