Well, Every One Can Master A Grief

Not From The Stars Do I My Judgement Pluck, And Yet Methinks I Have Astronomy. But Not To Tell Of Good Or Evil Luck, Of Plagues, Of Dearths, Or Season's Quality; Nor Can I Fortune To Brief Minutes Tell ... Or Say With Princes If It Shall Go Well.

Is He On His Horse? O Happy Horse, To Bear The Weight Of Antony!

He Wears His Faith But As The Fashion Of His Hat.

To Be Slow In Words Is A Woman's Only Virtue.

Nothing 'gainst Times Scythe Can Make Defence.