This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so, it is a chance which does redeem all sorrows that ever I have felt.
There is a world elsewhere.
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty.
The poorest service is repaid with thanks.
Thou art a boil, a plague sore, an embossed carbuncle in my corrupted blood.
Tempt not a desperate man.
O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! And yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all hooping.
If your mind dislike anything obey it.
Ready to go but never to return.
Swift as shadow, short as any dream.
Oh, God! I have an ill-divining soul!
I have almost forgotten the taste of fears: The time has been, my senses would have cool’d to hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir as life were in’t: I have supt full with horrors; Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, cannot once start me.
And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear, millions of mischiefs.
And what’s he then that says I play the villain?
His forward voice now is to speak well of his friend. His backward voice is to utter foul speeches and to detract.
To think but nobly of my grandmother: Good wombs have borne bad sons.
Receive what cheer you may. The night is long that never finds the day.
Nothing in his life became him like leaving it.
I can hardly forbear hurling things at him.
And his unkindness may defeat my life, But never taint my love.