Men at some time are masters of their fates.
The fault, dear Brutus, is not is our stars,
read more

Men at some time are masters of their fates.
The fault, dear Brutus, is not is our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.

Perhaps the early grave
Which men weep over may be meant to save.

Perhaps the early grave
Which men weep over may be meant to save.

Which he by hook or crook has gather'd
And by his own inventions father'd.

Which he by hook or crook has gather'd
And by his own inventions father'd.

Health and sicknesse surely are mens double enemies.

Health and sicknesse surely are mens double enemies.

He is twice a conqueror, who can restrain himself in the hour of
triumph.

He is twice a conqueror, who can restrain himself in the hour of
triumph.

Not perfect, nay, but full of tender wants.

Not perfect, nay, but full of tender wants.

Even speed, when we are anxious, seems like delay.

Even speed, when we are anxious, seems like delay.

Let him laugh, who is on the right side of the hedge.

Let him laugh, who is on the right side of the hedge.

Woes cluster; rare are solitary woes;
They love a train, they tread each other's heel.

Woes cluster; rare are solitary woes;
They love a train, they tread each other's heel.