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The fiend is strong within him.
– William Shakespeare
The mountain of mad flesh that claims marriage of me!
There’s many a man hath more hair than wit.
The red pestilence strike all!
I think thou art an ass.
She’s the kitchen wench, and all grease, and I know not what use to put her to but to make a lamp of her, and run from her by her own light.
Thou’rt poison to my blood.
I am spirited with a fool
A fool, an empty purse, There was no money in’t: not Hercules Could have knocked out his brains, for he had none.
Men’s vows are women’s traitors.
Vicious mole of nature.
Whose tongue Outvenoms all the worms of Nile.
His celestial breath was sulphurous to smell.
You are a fishmonger.
What is this quintessence of dust?
Thou art some fool, I am loath to beat thee.
One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.
Here comes a flattering rascal.
It is fit that I should commit offence to my inferiors.
Her beauty and her brain go not together.
The fall of an ass is no great hurt.
All the fiends of hell divide themselves between you!
That such a crafty devil as his mother should yield the world this ass!
O, there has been much throwing about of brains.
Came each actor on his ass.
It offends me to the soul to hear a robustious periwigpated fellow tear a passion to tatters.
It out-Herods Herod.
Let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp.
Leave thy damnable faces.
Such bugs and goblins in my life!