The will is infinite and the execution confin'd, the desire is boundless and the act a slave to limit.

Though I be but prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy.

Affection, mistress of passion, sways it to the mood of what it likes or loathes.

This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy, this Senior Junior, giant dwarf...Cupid.

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; be he ne’er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition; And gentlemen in England now-a-bed Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.

Our wills and fates do so contrary run.

O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest, And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death!