William Shakespeare

A politician... one that would circumvent God.

That which in mean men we entitle patience is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.

Had it pleas'd heaven_x000D_ _x000D_ To try me with affliction * * *_x000D_ _x000D_ I should have found in some place of my soul_x000D_ _x000D_ A drop of patience.

He that will have a cake out of the wheat must tarry the grinding.

The voice of parents is the voice of gods, for to their children they are heaven's lieutenants.

April ... hath put a spirit of youth in everything.

Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass,_x000D_ _x000D_ Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron,_x000D_ _x000D_ Can be retentive to the strength of spirit;_x000D_ _x000D_ But life, being weary of these worldly bars,_x000D_ _x000D_ Never lacks power to dismiss itself.

Had I but died an hour before this chance,_x000D_ _x000D_ I had liv'd a blessed time; for, from this instant,_x000D_ _x000D_ There's nothing serious in mortality:_x000D_ _x000D_ All is but toys; renown, and grace is dead;_x000D_ _x000D_ The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees_x000D_ _x000D_ Is left this vault to brag of.

So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune,_x000D_ _x000D_ That I would set my life on any chance,_x000D_ _x000D_ To mend, or be rid on't.

This day I breathed first: time is come round,_x000D_ _x000D_ And where I did begin there shall I end;_x000D_ _x000D_ My life is run his compass.

And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe._x000D_ _x000D_ And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot;_x000D_ _x000D_ And thereby hangs a tale.

And a man's life's no more than to say "One."

Too much to know is to know naught but fame.

Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that_x000D_ _x000D_ And manage it against despairing thoughts.

Look, the world's comforter, with weary gait,_x000D_ _x000D_ His day's hot task hath ended in the west:_x000D_ _x000D_ The owl, night's herald, shrieks-'tis very late;_x000D_ _x000D_ The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest;_x000D_ _x000D_ And coal-black clouds, that shadow heaven's light,_x000D_ _x000D_ Do summon us to part, and bid good night.

At once, good night-_x000D_ _x000D_ Stand not upon the order of your going,_x000D_ _x000D_ But go at once.

I pardon him, as God shall pardon me.

What if this cursed hand_x000D_ _x000D_ Were thicker than itself with brother's blood_x000D_ _x000D_ Is there not rain enough in the sweet heaves_x000D_ _x000D_ To wash it white as snow?

The thing of courage_x000D_ _x000D_ As rous'd with rage doth sympathise,_x000D_ _x000D_ And, with an accent tun'd in self-same key,_x000D_ _x000D_ Retorts to chiding fortune.

The smallest worm will turn being trodden on,_x000D_ _x000D_ And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood.

He hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age, doing, in the figure of a lamb, the feats of a lion.