Pickle
The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes.
–Coriolanus
Act V, Scene iv

The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes.
–Coriolanus
Act V, Scene iv

Take but good note, and you shall see in him
The triple pillar of the world transform’d
Into a strumpet’s fool: behold and see.
–Antony and Cleopatra,
Act I, Scene i

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death.
—Macbeth,
Act V, Scene v

All gold and silver rather turn to dirt.
–Cymbeline,
Act III Scene vi

Thyself upon thyself!
–Troilus and Cressida,
Act II, Scene iii

Thou art a boil, a plague sore, an embossed carbuncle
in my corrupted blood… But I’ll not chide thee.
-King Lear,
Act II, Scene ii

Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand,
Blood and revenge are hammering in my head.
–Titus Andronicus,
Act II, Scene ii