The Sense Of Death Is Most In

My Heart Suspects More Than Mine Eye Can See.

Indeed, Sir, He That Sleeps Feels Not The Toothache; But A Man That Were To Sleep Your Sleep, And A Hangman To Help Him To Bed, I Think He Would Change Places With His Officer; For Look You, Sir, You Know Not Which Way You Shall Go.

As Good Luck Would Have It, Comes In One Mistress Page, Gives Intelligence Of Ford's Approach, And In Her Invention, And Ford's Wife's Distraction, They Conveyed Me Into A Buck-basket.

What We Determine We Often Break. Purpose Is But The Slave To Memory.

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