It is held that valor is the chiefest virtue, and most dignifies the haver.

Let the sap of reason quench the fire of passion.

Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt.

The one I love is the son of the one I hate! -Juliet p. 75

In thee thy mother dies, our household's name, My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame.

Courage mounteth with occasion.

Merciful heaven, Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt Splits the unwedgeable and gnarled oak Than the soft myrtle; but man, proud man, Dressed in a little brief authority, Most ignorant of what he's most assured His glassy essence--like an angry ape Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven As makes the angels weep; who, with our spleens, would all themselves laugh mortal.