I had rather live with cheese and garlic in a windmill.
By my troth, I care not; a man can die but once; we owe God a death and let it go which way it will he that dies this year is quit for the next
Conscience doth make cowards of us all.
Lady, with me, with me thy fortune lies.
The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow We are such stuff as dreams are made of.
Though music oft hath such a charm to make bad good, and good provoke to harm.