The quality of mercy is not strained
We may outrun By violent swiftness And lose by over-running.
What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted! Thrice is he arm'd, that hath his quarrel just.
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is slicked o'er with the pale cast of thought
Know more than other. Work more than other. Expect less than other
I despised my arrival on this earth and I despise my departure; it is a tragedy.