In Shakespeare One Sentence Begets The Next

How Many Of Our Virtues Originate In The Fear Of Death & That While We Flatter Ourselves That We Are Melting In Christian Sensibility Over The Sorrows Of Our Human Brethren And Sisteren, We Are In Fact, Tho' Perhaps Unconsciously, Moved At The Prospect Of Our Own End For Who Sincerely Pities Sea-sickness, Toothache, Or A Fit Of The Gout In A Lusty Good-liver Of 50?

A Court Has No Right To Strain The Law Because It Causes Hardship.

Every Crime Has, In The Moment Of Its Perpetration, Its Own Avenging Angel-dark Misgiving, An Ominous Sinking At The Inmost Heart.

And Though Thou Notest From Thy Safe Recess Old Friends Burn Dim, Like Lamps In Noisome Air Love Them For What They Are; Nor Love Them Less, Because To Thee They Are Not What They Were.

Nothing Great Was Ever Achieved Without Enthusiasm. For What Is Enthusiasm But The Oblivion And Swallowing-up Of Self In An Object Dearer Than Self?