Every man has a bag hanging before him, in which he puts his neighbour's faults, and another behind him in which he stows his own.

They are hare-brain'd slaves.

They have been grand-jurymen since before Noah was a sailor

Out of her favour, where I am in love.

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

How much better is it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping?

And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From 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