Nothing can seem foul to those who win.
Give them great meals of beef and iron and steel, they will eat like wolves and fight like devils.
Making night hideous.
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.
For who so firm that cannot be seduced?
I see a man's life is a tedious one.