Related:

• The game is up. -- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Cymbeline -- Act iii, Sc. 3
• Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk. -- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Cymbeline -- Act iii, Sc.
  3...
• It is no act of common passage, but A strain of rareness.
  -- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Cymbeline -- Act iii, Sc. 4...
• I have not slept one wink. -- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Cymbeline -- Act iii, Sc. 4
• An angel! or, if not, An earthly paragon! -- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Cymbeline -- Act iii, Sc.
  6...
• Some griefs are medicinable. -- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Cymbeline -- Act iii, Sc. 2
• Thou art all the comfort The gods will diet me with.
  -- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Cymbeline -- Act iii, Sc. 4...
• T is not so above; There is no shuffling, there the action lies In his true nature.
  -- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Hamlet -- Act iii, Sc. 3...
• The world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch.
  -- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), King Richard III -- Act i, Sc. 3...