From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered- We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition; And gentlemen in England now-a-bed Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.

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.

Religious canons, civil laws, are cruel; then what should war be?

Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him? - Lady Macbeth

He was not so much brain as earwax

Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth.

Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear