Plenty and peace breed cowards; hardness ever of hardiness is mother.

I care not, a man can die but once; we owe God and death.

Alas, our frailty is the cause , not we! For, such as we are made of, such we be.

When he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.

There is nothing so confining as the prisons of our own perceptions.

Every man has a bag hanging before him, in which he puts his neighbour's faults, and another behind him in which he stows his own.

Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting That would not let me sleep.