...lest too light winning make the prize light.

Affection, mistress of passion, sways it to the mood of what it likes or loathes.

Falsehood falsehood cures

Should the poor be flattered? No; let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp, and crook the pregnant hinges of the knee where thrift may follow fawning.

I had rather eleven died nobly for their country than one voluptuously surfeit out of action.

And simple truth miscalled simplicity

Men at some time are masters of their fates. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.