My Soul Is In The Sky.

Shorten My Days Thou Canst With Sullen Sorrow, And Pluck Nights From Me, But Not Lend A Morrow; Thou Canst Help Time To Furrow Me With Age, But Stop No Wrinkle In His Pilgrimage.

My Dear, Dear Lord, The Purest Treasure Mortal Times Afford Is Spotless Reputation; That Away Men Are But Gilded Loan Or Painted Clay... Mine Honor Is My Life; Both Grow In One; Take Honor From Me, And My Life Is Done.

I Hold The World But As The World, Gratiano!

That Truth Should Be Silent I Had Almost Forgot. (enobarbus)

Tis Much When Sceptres Are In Children's Hands, But More When Envy Breeds Unkind Division: There Comes The Ruin, There Begins Confusion.