The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely what wise men do foolishly.

Britain is A world by itself, and we will nothing pay For wearing our own noses.

What showers arise, blown with the windy tempest of my heart

Be to yourself as you would to your friend.

I hate ingratitude more in a man than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness, or any taint of vice whose strong corruption inhabits our frail blood".

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall with our English dead.

They say best men are molded out of faults, And, for the most, become much more the better For being a little bad