Some Kinds Of Baseness Are Nobly Undergone.

If We Are True To Ourselves, We Can Not Be False To Anyone.

Look On Beauty, And You Shall See 'tis Purchased By The Weight, Which Therein Works A Miracle In Nature, Making Them Lightest That Wear Most Of It.

Lords, I Protest My Soul Is Full Of Woe That Blood Should Sprinkle Me To Make Me Grow. Come, Mourn With Me For What I Do Lament, And Put Sullen Black Incontinent. I'll Make A Voyage To The Holy Land To Wash This Blood Off From My Guilty Hand. March Sadly After. Grace My Mournings Here In Weeping After This Untimely Bier.

I Would With Such Perfection Govern, Sir, T'excel The Golden Age.

Adversity Makes Strange Bedfellows.