There's A Proud Modesty In

A Man May Be Capable, As Jack Ketch's Wife Said Of His Servant, Of A Plain Piece Of Work, A Bare Hanging; But To Makea Malefactordiesweetly Was Only Belonging Toher Husband.

I Trade Both With The Living And The Dead, For The Enrichment Of Our Native Language.

Even Victors Are By Victories Undone.

The Perverseness Of My Fate Is Such That He's Not Mine Because He's Mine Too Much.

Death In Itself Is Nothing; But We Fear To Be We Know Not What, We Know Not Where.