where civil blood makes civil hands unclean
Heaven truly knows that thou art false as hell.
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall with our English dead.
Hamlet: Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring? Ophelia: 'Tis brief, my lord. Hamlet: As woman's love.
Oh, I have passed a miserable night, so full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams!
In nature there's no blemish but the mind. None can be called deformed but the unkind.