Just Death, Kind Umpire Of

Trifles Light As Air Are To The Jealous Confirmations Strong As Proofs Of Holy Writ.

We Few. We Happy Few. We Band Of Brothers, For He Today That Sheds His Blood With Me Shall Be My Brother.

Few Things Loves Better Than To Abhor Himself.

When Caesar Says, 'do This', It Is Performed.

Would It Not Grieve A Woman To Be Over-mastered By A Piece Of Valiant Dust? To Make An Account Of Her Life To A Clod Of Wayward Marle?