Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets, but gold that's put to use more gold begets.
Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought.
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds makes ill deeds done!
It is the very error of the moon; She comes more nearer earth than she was wont, And makes men mad.
Be still prepared for death: and death or life shall thereby be the sweeter.
Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck, And yet methinks I have astronomy. But not to tell of good or evil luck, Of plagues, of dearths, or season's quality; Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell ... Or say with princes if it shall go well.