I'll fight, till from my bones my flesh be hacked.

Tell them, that, to ease them of their griefs, Their fear of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, Their pangs of love, with other incident throes That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them.

One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.

I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes—and moreover, I will go with thee to thy uncle’s.

Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin, as self-neglecting.

England is safe, if true within itself.

Patch grief with proverbs.