But men are men; the best sometimes forget.

What we determine we often break. Purpose is but the slave to memory.

But shall we wear these glories for a day? Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?

If there be devils, would I were a devil, To live and burn in everlasting fire, So I might have your company in hell, But to torment you with my bitter tongue!

I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes—and moreover, I will go with thee to thy uncle’s.

Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so; And, being done, thus Wall away doth go.

There's no art to find the mind's construction in the face.