He That Is Strucken Blind Can Not

Nay, Had I Pow'r, I Should Pour The Sweet Milk Of Concord Into Hell, Uproar The Universal Peace, Confound All Unity On Earth.

Let Me Tell You, Cassius, You Yourself Are Much Condemned To Have An Itching Palm.

When We Are Born We Cry That We Are Come To This Great Stage Of Fools.

The Private Wound Is Deepest. O Time Most Accurst, 'mongst All Foes That A Friend Should Be The Worst!

Weed Your Better Judgments Of All Opinion That Grows Rank In Them.