Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other side

Give me that man that is not passion's slave, and I will wear him in my heart's core, in my heart of heart, as I do thee.

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

Women are as roses, whose fair flower, being once displayed, doth fall that very hour.

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.

I'll speak in a monstrous little voice.

Ay, Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy.