Blood, though it sleep a time, yet never dies. The gods on murtherers fix revengeful eyes.
Words writ in waters.
Perfect happiness, by princes sought, Is not with birth born, nor exchequers bought.
Give me a spirit that on this life's rough sea Loves t'have his sails filled with a lusty wind, Even till his sail-yards tremble, his masts crack, And his ship run on her side so low That she drinks water, and her keel plows air.
They're only truly great who are truly good.
Tis immortality to die aspiring.