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

"It is like a barber's chair that fits all buttocks, the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawn-buttock, or any buttock."

"The more pity that fools may not speak wisely what wise men do foolishly."

"Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once."

"My salad days,"