And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, 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
Tis the times' plague, when madmen lead the blind.
Blessings of your heart, you brew good ale.
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.
Oh, that way madness lies; let me shun that.
In friendship, as in love, we are often happier through our ignorance than our knowledge.