Give me my sin again.

Do you set down your name in the scroll of youth, that are written down old with all the characters of age?

I were better to be eaten to death with a rust than to be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion.

Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought.

The sense of death is most in apprehension, And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies.

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It is held that valor is the chiefest virtue, and most dignifies the haver.