Men's Faults Do Seldom To Themselves Appear.

The Thing Of Courage As Rous'd With Rage Doth Sympathise, And, With An Accent Tun'd In Self-same Key, Retorts To Chiding Fortune.

Short Time Seems Long In Sorrow's Sharp Sustaining.

One Whom The Music Of His Own Vain Tongue Doth Ravish Like Enchanting Harmony.

O! Let Me Not Be Mad, Not Mad, Sweet Heaven; Keep Me In Temper; I Would Not Be Mad!

Let Me Have Men About Me That Are Fat... Yond Cassius Has A Lean And Hungry Look. He Thinks Too Much: Such Men Are Dangerous.