Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand?
Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry, stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.
When faced with a sea of troubles, take action, and in so doing end it.
Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail, And say there is no sin but to be rich; And being rich, my virtue then shall be To say there is no vice but beggary
Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin, as self-neglecting.
We make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars; as if we were villians by compulsion.