"'Tis an unweeded garden / that grows to seed. Things rank and gross in nature / possess it merely. That it should come / but two months dead - nay, not so much, not two" (I.ii.139-142)
"Earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most / excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'er / hanging firmament, this majestical roof, fretted / with golden fire - why it appeareth nothing to me / but a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors" (II.ii.322-326)
"Should have kept short, restrained, and out of haunt This mad young man. But so much was our love, We would not understand what was most fit, But, like the owner of a foul disease, To keep it from divulging, let it feed Even on the pith of life" (IIII.i.19-23)