Words to deeds cold breath gives.
What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours?
Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck, And yet methinks I have astronomy. But not to tell of good or evil luck, Of plagues, of dearths, or season's quality; Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell ... Or say with princes if it shall go well.
Simply the thing that I am shall make me live.
If there is a good will, there is great way.
I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap