We Are Not Ourselves When Nature, Being

To Whom God Will, There Be The Victory.

A Knavish Speech Sleeps In A Fool's Ear.

Gloucester: I Do Not Know That Englishman Alive With Whom My Soul Is Any Jot At Odds, More Than The Infant That Is Born To-night: I Thank My God For My Humility.

The Blood Of Youth Burns Not With Such Excess As Gravity's Revolt To Wantonness.

Their Manners Are More Gentle, Kind, Than Of Our Human Generation You Shall Find.