This music crept by me upon the waters, Allaying both their fury and my passion With its sweet air: thence I have follow’d it.

Macbeth to Witches: What are these So wither'd and so wild in their attire, That look not like th' inhabitants o' th' earth, And yet are on 't?

Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief.

Where is your ancient courage? You were used to say extremities was the trier of spirits; That common chances common men could bear; That when the sea was calm all boats alike showed mastership in floating.

Madness in great ones must not unwatched go.

Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues we write in water.

I, measuring his affections by my own, Which then most sought where most might not be found, Being one too many by my weary self, Pursued my humor not pursuing his, And gladly shunned who gladly fled from me.