Let every eye negotiate for itself and trust no agent.

Sound trumpets! Let our bloody colours wave! And either victory, or else a grave.

O, call back yesterday, bid time return

Ay, but hearken, sir; though the chameleon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by my victuals, and would fain have meat.

O, let him pass. He hates him That would upon the rack of this tough world Stretch him out longer.

Nothing is so common as the wish to be remarkable.(attributed to)

By that sin fell the angels.