Ambition, the soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of loss, than gain which darkens him.

To hold, as 't were, the mirror up to nature.

The small amount of foolery wise men have makes a great show.

Simply the thing that I am shall make me live.

Well, every one can master a grief but he that has it.

Temptation: the fiend at my elbow.

Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage! Blow! You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drenched our teeples, drowned the cocks! You sulphurour and thought-executing fires, Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts, Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world! Crack nature's molds, all germens spill at once That make ingrateful man!