Wilt Thou Whip Thine Own Faults In

The Evil That Men Do Lives After Them; The Good Is Oft Interred With Their Bones.

Ambition, The Soldier's Virtue, Rather Makes Choice Of Loss, Than Gain Which Darkens Him.

Thou Art An Elm, My Husband, I A Vine, Whose Weakness, Married To Thy Stronger State, Makes Me With Thy Strength To Communicate.

The Commonwealth Of Athens Is Become A Forest Of Beasts.

Our Wills And Fates Do So Contrary Run, That Our Devices Still Are Overthrown; Our Thoughts Are Ours, Their Ends None Of Our Own.