O world, world! thus is the poor agent despised. O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set a-work, and how ill requited! Why should our endeavor be so loved, and the performance so loathed?

The native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; and enterprises of great pitch and moment, With this regard, their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action.

Dream in light years, challenge miles, walk step by step

a girl takes too much time to love and a few seconds to hate. but a boy takes a few seconds to love and too much time to hate.

a wild dedication of yourselves To undiscovered waters, undreamed shores.

To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods.

Religious canons, civil laws, are cruel; then what should war be?