What's Done Cannot Be Undone. To Bed,

There Is No Sure Foundation Set On Blood, No Certain Life Achieved By Others' Death.

It Was Always Yet The Trick Of Our English Nation, If They Have A Good Thing, To Make It Too Common.

Bid The Dishonest Man Mend Himself; If He Mend, He Is No Longer Dishonest.

Time Does Not Have The Same Appeal For Every One

As I Hope For Quiet Days, Fair Issue, And Long Life, With Such Love As 'tis Now, The Murkiest Den, The Most Opportune Place, The Strong'st Suggestion Our Worser Genius Can, Shall Never Melt Mine Honour Into Lust, To Take Away The Edge Of That Day's Celebration, When I Shall Think Or Phoebus' Steeds Are Founder'd Or Night Kept Chain'd Below.