I shall not wholly die, and a great part of me will escape the grave.

And Tragedy should blush as much to stoop To the low mimic follies of a farce, As a grave matron would to dance with girls.

Force without judgement falls on its own weight.

This was my prayer: an adequate portion of land with a garden and a spring of water and a small wood to complete the picture.

Believe it, future generations.

Boy, I loathe Persian luxury.

The dispute is still before the judge.