Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard.
He is deformed, crooked, old and sere, Ill-faced, worse bodied, shapeless everywhere; Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind; Stigmatical in making, worse in mind.
Bid the dishonest man mend himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest.
Sleep knits up the raveled sleeve of care.
A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings home full numbers.
My dear, dear Lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation; that away Men are but gilded loan or painted clay... Mine honor is my life; both grow in one; Take honor from me, and my life is done.