What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts.
It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.
Passion makes the will lord of the reason.
A light heart lives long.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot; Follow your spirit: and upon this charge, Cry — God for Harry! England and Saint George!
You must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.