When Devils Will The Blackest

Tell Me Where Is Fancy Bred, Or In The Heart, Or In The Head?

To Be Honest, As This World Goes, Is To Be One Man Picked Out Of Ten Thousand.

The Color Of The King Doth Come And Go, Between His Purpose And His Conscience, Like Heralds 'twixt Two Dreadful Battles Set: His Passion Is So Ripe, It Needs Must Break.

I Am Not Mad; I Would To Heaven I Were! For Then, 'tis Like I Should Forget Myself; O, If I Could, What Grief Should I Forget!

All Hoods Make Not Monks.