Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
Help, master, help! here's a fish hangs in the net, like a poor man's right in the law; 'twill hardly come out.
Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself are much condemned to have an itching palm.
Such antics do not amount to a man.
The expedition of my violent love outrun the pauser, reason.
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead! In peace there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger.