Wisely, and slow. They stumble that run fast.

Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.

I have pursued her, as love hath pursued me

Lay on, McDuff, and be damned he who first cries, 'Hold, enough!

Go, bid the soldiers shoot.

There is a kind of character in thy life, That to the observer doth thy history, fully unfold.

So well thy words become thee as thy wounds.