Can we outrun the heavens?

Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all!

He that is proud eats up himself: pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle.

Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.

I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offences at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in.

He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.

Time is the king of men.