I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
His life was gentle; and the elements So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, THIS WAS A MAN!
'Tis better to bear the ills we have than fly to others that we know not of.
A woman moved is like a fountain troubled, Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty.
All that glisters is not gold; Often have you heard that told.
But whate'er I am, nor I nor any man that but man is, With nothing shall be pleased 'til he be eased With being nothing.