Wisely, and slow. They stumble that run fast.

Boldness be my friend.

Fight till the last gasp.

“And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.”

Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

Like madness is the glory of life.

God hath given you one face, and you make yourself another.

There is a tide in the affairs of men which, taken at the floud, leads on to fortune ommitted, all the voyage of their lives are bound in shallows and in miseries.

These violent delights have violent ends And in their triump die, like fire and powder Which, as they kiss, consume.