And makes me poor indeed.
Men at sometime are the masters of their fate.
Oh, injurious love, that respites me a life, whose very comfort is still a dying horror
I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum.
Wise men ne'er sit and wail their woes, but presently prevent the ways to wail.
The better part of valor is discretion, in the which better part I have saved my life.