Our immortal souls, while righteous, are by God himself beautified with the title of his own image and similitude.

So the heart be right, it is no matter which way the head lieth.

I shall never be persuaded that God hath shut up all light of learning within the lantern of Aristotle's brain.

Whoever commands the sea, commands the trade; whosoever commands the trade of the world commands the riches of the world, and consequently the world itself.

... but the longest day hath its evening.

What is our life? A play of passion. Our mirth the music of division. Our mother's wombs the tyring houses be, Where we are drest for this short Comedy.

Oh, doughty sons of Hungary! May all success Attend and bless Your warlike ironmongery!