Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It fell upon a little western flower, Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound, And maidens call it love-in-idleness.
William ShakespeareTo die, to sleep - To sleep, perchance to dream - ay, there's the rub, For in this sleep of death what dreams may come.
William ShakespeareO, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, / That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!
William ShakespeareFrom this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered- We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother; be he neโer so vile, This day shall gentle his condition; And gentlemen in England now-a-bed Shall think themselves accursโd they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispinโs day.
William Shakespeare