What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night, So stumblest on my counsel? *Who are you? Why do you hide in the darkness and listen to my private thoughts?*
Such as we are made of, such we be.
The rarer action is in virtue than in vengeance.
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall with our English dead.
Conceit in weakest bodies works the strongest.
Make me a willow cabin at your gate, And call upon my soul within the house; Write loyal cantons of contemned love And sing them loud even in the dead of night.