Woe, destruction, ruin, and decay; the worst is death and death will have his day.

For such things as you, I can scarce think there's any, ye're so slight.

Our enemies are our outward consciences.

I am as vigilant as a cat to steal cream.

Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh.

Plenty and peace breed cowards; hardness ever of hardiness is mother.

No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself, But by reflection, by some other things.