where civil blood makes civil hands unclean

Ignorance is the curse of God; knowledge is the wing wherewith we fly to heaven.

There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will.

In struggling with misfortunes lies the true proof of virtue.

I can call spirits from the vasty deep.

This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.

Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens to the which our wills are gardeners.