How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees? – William Shakespeare
The rankest compound of villainous smell that ever offended nostril. – William Shakespeare

How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees? – William Shakespeare
The rankest compound of villainous smell that ever offended nostril. – William Shakespeare
O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven! Keep me in temper. I would not be mad. – William Shakespeare
Men are April when they woo, December when they wed. Maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. – William Shakespeare