This is the excellent foppery of the world, that when we are sick in fortune (often the surfeits of our own behavior) we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and stars, as if we were villains on necessity.
What a deformed thief this fashion is.
Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality that it is but a shadow's shadow.
He wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat.
Oh that way madness lies let me shun that.
'Tis best to weigh the enemy more mighty than he seems.
Why, ‘Some are born great, some achieve great- ness, and some have greatness thrown upon them.
A hit a very palpable hit.
Fair is foul, and foul is fair, hover through fog and filthy air.