He wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat.
We see which way the stream of time doth run.
There's little of the melancholy element in her, my lord: she is never sad but when she sleeps; and not ever sad then; for I have heard my daughter say, she hath often dreamt of unhappiness, and waked herself with laughing.
What showers arise, blown with the windy tempest of my heart
There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will.
Courage mounteth with occasion.