There's a divinity that shapes our ends,Rough-hew them how we will.
Men must endureTheir going hence, even as their coming hither.Ripeness is all.
Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man's son doth know.
There are occasions and causes, why and wherefore in all things.
His life was gentle; and the elementsSo mixed in him, that Nature might stand upAnd say to all the world, THIS WAS A MAN!
Tongues in trees, books in running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.
Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him; The evil that men do lives after them, The good is oft interred with their bones
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