O tiger's heart wrapped in a woman's hide!

I have no way and therefore want no eyes I stumbled when I saw. Full oft 'tis seen our means secure us, and our mere defects prove our commodities.

Though age from folly could not give me freedom, It does from childishness.

Sound trumpets! Let our bloody colours wave! And either victory, or else a grave.

Let not the world see fear and sad distrust govern the motion of a kingly eye.

Seems," madam? Nay, it is; I know not "seems." 'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, Nor customary suits of solemn black, Nor windy suspiration of forced breath, No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage, Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief, That can denote me truly: these indeed seem, For they are actions that a man might play: But I have that within which passeth show; These but the trappings and the suits of woe.

The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger.