Where Civil Blood Makes Civil Hands Unclean

If Our Virtues Did Not Go Forth Of Us, It Were All Alike As If We Had Them Not.

Good Hamlet, Cast Thy Nighted Colour Off ... Do Not For Ever With Thy Vailed Lids Seek For Thy Noble Father In The Dust.

Bear With My Weakness. My Old Brain Is Troubled. Be Not Disturbed With My Infirmity.

Thrice Is He Arm'd That Hath His Quarrel Just, And He But Naked, Though Lock'd Up In Steel, Whose Conscience With Injustice Is Corrupted.

Light Vanity, Insatiate Cormorant, Consuming Means, Soon Preys Upon Itself.