Not Stepping Over The Bounds Of Modesty.

So Holy And So Perfect Is My Love, And I In Such A Poverty Of Grace, That I Shall Think It A Most Plenteous Crop To Glean The Broken Ears After The Man That The Main Harvest Reaps.

Out, Damned Spot! Out, I Say!

O, Had I But Followed The Arts!

To England Will I Steal, And There I'll Steal.

Greatness Knows Itself.