Take Pains. Be Perfect.

But Now Behold, In The Quick Forge And Working-house Of Thought, How London Doth Pour Out Her Citizens!

No Reckoning Made, But Sent To My Account With All My Imperfections On My Head.

If It Be Honor In Your Wars To Seem The Same You Are Not,--which, For Your Best Ends, You Adopt Your Policy--how Is It Less Or Worse, That It Shall Hold Companionship In Peace With Honour, As In War: Since That To Both It Stands In Like Request?

He Was Not So Much Brain As Earwax

To Move Wild Laughter In The Throat Of Death? It Cannot Be; It Is Impossible: Mirth Cannot Move A Soul In Agony.