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Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my read more
Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd,
As home his footsteps he hath turn'd,
From wandering on a foreign strand!
We must recoile a little, to the end we may leap the better.
We must recoile a little, to the end we may leap the better.
Anger is like
A full hot horse, who being allowed his way,
Self-mettle tires him.
Anger is like
A full hot horse, who being allowed his way,
Self-mettle tires him.
A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver.
A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver.
Where there is no honour, there is no griefe.
Where there is no honour, there is no griefe.
Never had ill workeman good tooles.
Never had ill workeman good tooles.
I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips.
I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips.
This victory will be your I ruin.
This victory will be your I ruin.
The mind that is anxious about the future is miserable.
[Lat., Calamitosus est animus futuri anxius.]
The mind that is anxious about the future is miserable.
[Lat., Calamitosus est animus futuri anxius.]
