It Is In Pardoning That We Are

O For A Horse With Wings!

The Morning Steals Upon The Night, Melting The Darkness.

Value Dwells Not In Particular Will; It Holds His Estimate And Dignity As Well Wherein 'tis Precious Of Itself As In The Prizer.

Rest You Fair, Good Signior; Your Worship Was The Last Man In Our Mouths.

Ross You Must Have Patience, Madam. Lady Macduff He Had None: His Flight Was Madness: When Our Actions Do Not, Our Fears Do Make Us Traitors.