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The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

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My words fly up, my thoughts remain below:
Words without thoughts never to heaven go.

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I must be cruel, only to be kind:
Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.

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So full of artless jealousy is guilt,
It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.

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We know what we are, but know not what we may be.

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A hit, a very palpable hit.

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The rest is silence.

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Now cracks a noble heart. Good night sweet prince:
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!

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Although the last, not least.

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Every minute you are thinking of evil, you might have been thinking of good instead. Refuse to pander to a morbid interest in your own misdeeds. Pick yourself up, be sorry, shake yourself, and go on again.

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