He That Dies This Year Is Quit

I Can No Longer Live By Thinking.

Trifles Light As Air Are To The Jealous Confirmations Strong As Proofs Of Holy Writ.

The Eye Of Man Hath Not Heard, The Ear Of Man Hath Not Seen, Man's Hand Is Not Able To Taste, His Tongue To Conceive, Nor His Heart To Report, What My Dream Was.

To Offend And Judge Are Distinct Offices, And Of Opposed Natures.

And Crispin Crispian Shall Ne'er Go By, From This Day To The Ending Of The World, But We In It Shall Be Remembered- We Few, We Happy Few, We Band Of Brothers; For He To-day That Sheds His Blood With Me Shall Be My Brother