As good luck would have it.

To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.

What valor were it, when a cur doth grin, for one to thrust his hand between his teeth, when he might spurn him with his foot away?

what cannot be saved when fate takes, patience her injury a mockery makes

O heaven! that one might read the book of fate, and see the revolution of the times.

Here is a rural fellow that will not be denied your Highness' presence: he brings you figs.

From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered- We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition; And gentlemen in England now-a-bed Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.