Death makes no conquest of this conqueror: For now he lives in fame, though not in life.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall with our English dead.

Love asks me no questions, and gives me endless support.

Thyself shall see the act; For, as thou urgest justice, be assured Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desir'st.

Yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way: thou wouldst be great; Art not without ambition, but without The illness should attend it: what thou wouldst highly, That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win.

The will of man is by his reason sway'd.

When a father gives to his son, both laugh; when a son gives to his father, both cry.