Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

To move is to stir, and to be valiant is to stand; therefore, if tou art mov'd, thou runst away. (To be angry is to move, to be brave is to stand still. Therefore, if you're angry, you'll run away.)

Extremity is the trier of spirits.

Farewell, fair cruelty.

Travelers never did lie, though fools at home condemn them.

Can I go forward when my heart is here?

so full of shapes is fancy