O, she misused me past the endurance of a block.
An envious fever of pale and bloodless emulation.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Men at some time are masters of their fates.
Bid me run, and I will strive with things impossible.
Time, whose millioned accidents creep in betwixt vows, and change decrees of kings, tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharpest intents, divert strong minds to the course of altering things.