Passion makes the will lord of the reason.
There is not one wise man in twenty that will praise himself.
Be wise as thou art cruel, do not press My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain: Lest sorrow lend me words and words express, The manner of my pity-wanting pain.
There is plenty of time to sleep in the grave
Tis ever common That men are merriest when they are from home.
Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.