Some Falls The Means Are Happier To

We Few. We Happy Few. We Band Of Brothers, For He Today That Sheds His Blood With Me Shall Be My Brother.

King Henry: But What A Point, My Lord, Your Falcon Made, And What A Pitch She Flew Above The Rest! To See How God In All His Creatures Works! Yea, Man And Birds Are Fain Of Climbing High. Suffolk: No Marvel, An It Like Your Majesty, My Lord Protectors Hawks Do Tower So Well; They Know Their Masters Loves To Be Aloft, And Bears His Thoughts Above His Falcon's Pitch. Gloucester: My Lord, 'tis But A Base Ignoble Mind That Mounts No Higher Than A Bird Can Soar.

When The Sun Shines Let Foolish Gnats Make Sport, But Creep In Crannies When He Hides His Beams.

For Sorrow Ends Not, When It Seemeth Done.

Who Is Here So Vile That Will Not Love His Country?