But thought's the slave of life, and life time's fool.

O, how I faint when I of you do write, Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, And in the praise thereof spends all his might To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame.

Have patience, and endure

The pow'r that I have on you is to spare you; The malice towards you to forgive you.

for my grief's so great That no supporter but the huge firm earth Can hold it up: here I and sorrows sit; Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. (Constance, from King John, Act III, scene 1)

Corruption wins not more than honesty.

I have a kind soul that would give you thanks. And knows not how to do it but with tears.