Some Are Born Great, Others Achieve Greatness.

Time Be Thine, And Thy Best Graces Spend It At Thy Will.

Now Is The Winter Of Our Discontent.

Ever Note, Lucilius, When Love Begins To Sicken And Decay It Useth An Enforced Ceremony. There Are No Tricks In Plain And Simple Faith; But Hollow Men, Like Horses Hot At Hand, Make Gallant Show And Promise Of Their Mettle; But When They Should Endure The Bloody Spur, They Fall Their Crests, And Like Deceitful Jades Sink In The Trial.

I Never See Thy Face But I Think Upon Hell-fire.

I Will Kill Thee A Hundred And Fifty Ways.