When I was at home I was in a better place

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

O thou that dost inhabit in my breast, leave not the mansion so long tenantless; lest, growing ruinous, the building fall and leave no memory of what it was!

Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come.

Past all shame, so past all truth.

When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.

When truth kills truth, O devilish holy fray!