There is no love-broker in the world can more prevail in man's commendation with woman than report of valor.

Sometimes we are devils to ourselves When we will tempt the frailty of our powers, Presuming on their changeful potency.

Woe to that land that's governed by a child.

Ornament is but the guiled shore to a most dangerous sea.

for my grief's so great That no supporter but the huge firm earth Can hold it up: here I and sorrows sit; Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. (Constance, from King John, Act III, scene 1)

Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light

There is a time in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.