Murder’s out of tune,And sweet revenge grows harsh.
Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,Chief nourisher in life's feast.
Men at sometime are the masters of their fate.
What fates impose, that men must needs abide; it boots not to resist both wind and tide.
He makes a swan-like end, fading in music.
A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind.
A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings home full numbers.
Like madness is the glory of this life As this pomp shows to a little oil and root.
Glory is like a circle in the water, Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself Till by broad spreading it disperse to naught.
Vanity keeps persons in favor with themselves who are out of favor with all others.
Perseverance... keeps honor bright: to have done, is to hang quite out of fashion, like a rusty nail in monumental mockery.
The silence often of pure innocence persuades when speaking fails.”
A long-tongued, babbling gossip.
What's in a name? That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet
When valour preys on reason, it eats the sword it fights with.