Ask nothing more of me sweet; All I can give you I give; Heart of my heart were it more, More would be laid at your feet.

Thou has conquered, O pale Galilean.

When fate has allowed to any man more than one great gift, accident or necessity seems usually to contrive that one shall encumber and impede the other.

Not with dreams, but with blood and with iron, Shall a nation be moulded at last.

My loss may shine yet goodlier than your gain When Time and God give judgment.

Today will die tomorrow.

To say of shame - what is it? Of virtue - we can miss it; Of sin-we can kiss it, And it's no longer sin.