Opinion's but a fool, that makes us scan the outward habit by the inward man.
Let me not live,' quoth he, 'After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses All but new things disdain; whose judgments are Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies Expire before their fashions.
When she shall die, take her, and cut her in little stars, and she will make the face of heaven so fine, that the world will be in love with night, and pay no worship to the garish sun.
Madness in great ones must not unwatched go.
Away you three-inch fool!
What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?