Heaven Give You Many, Many Merry Days.

As I Love The Name Of Honour More Than I Fear Death.

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.

Something Is Rotten In The State Of Denmark.

He Is Not Great Who Is Not Greatly Good.

For My Grief's So Great That No Supporter But The Huge Firm Earth Can Hold It Up: Here I And Sorrows Sit; Here Is My Throne, Bid Kings Come Bow To It. (constance, From King John, Act Iii, Scene 1)