Can One Desire Too Much

If We Are Mark'd To Die, We Are Enow To Do Our Country Loss; And If To Live, The Fewer Men, The Greater Share Of Honour. God's Will! I Pray Thee; Wish Not One Man More.

Something Is Rotten In The State Of Denmark.

I Will Despair, And Be At Enmity With Cozening Hope.

Come My Spade. There Is No Ancient Gentlemen But Gardeners, Ditchers, And Grave-makers; They Hold Up Adam's Profession.

What We Determine We Often Break. Purpose Is But The Slave To Memory.