For she doth make my veins and pulses tremble.
A man's renown is like the hue of grass, Which comes and goes.
Follow your own star!
Conscience, that boon companion who sets a man free under the strong breastplate of innocence, that bids him on and fear not.
Imagination, that dost so abstract us That we are not aware, not even when A thousand trumpets sound about our ears!
As the geometer intently seeks to square the circle, but he cannot reach, through thought on thought, the principle he needs, so I searched that strange sight.