Sycorax Has Grown Into A Hoop

Time, Whose Millioned Accidents Creep In Betwixt Vows, And Change Decrees Of Kings, Tan Sacred Beauty, Blunt The Sharpest Intents, Divert Strong Minds To The Course Of Altering Things.

No Legacy Is So Rich As Honesty.

Rumour Is A Pipe Blown By Surmises, Jealousies, Conjectures And Of So Easy And So Plain A Stop That The Blunt Monster With Uncounted Heads, The Still-discordant Wavering Multitude, Can Play Upon It.

For I Can Raise No Money By Vile Means. By Heaven, I Had Rather Coin My Heart, And Drop My Blood For Drachmas

How Can Tyrants Safely Govern Home, Unless Abroad They Purchase Great Alliance.