What a deformed thief this fashion is.

Yet this my comfort: when your words are done, My woes end likewise with the evening sun.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead! In peace there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger.

A glooming peace this morning with it brings; The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

Have more than thou showest, Speak less than thou knowest, Lend less than thou owest.

For where thou art, there is the world itself, With every several pleasure in the world, And where thou art not, desolation.

The extreme parts of time extremely forms all causes to the purpose of his speed.