Et Tu Brute! (you Too, Brutus!)

Care I For The Limb, The Thews, The Stature, Bulk, And Big Assemblance Of A Man! Give Me The Spirit.

There's Nothing Ill Can Dwell In Such A Temple. If The Ill Spirit Have So Fair A House, Good Things Will Strive To Dwell With't

This Is The Short And The Long Of It.

This Thought Is As A Death.

To Die: - To Sleep: No More; And, By A Sleep To Say We End The Heart-ache And The Thousand Natural Shocks That Flesh Is Heir To, 'tis A Consummation Devoutly To Be Wished.