I have a bone to pick with Fate

Appetite, a universal wolf.

I and my bosom must debate awhile, and then I would no other company.

But 'tis common proof, that lowliness is young ambition's ladder, whereto the climber-upward turns his face; but when he once attains the upmost round, he then turns his back, looks in the clouds, scorning the vase defrees by which he did ascend.

Your cause of sorrow must not be measured by his worth, for then it hath no end.

Beauty within itself should not be wasted.

Pause awhile, And let my counsel sway you.