Mercy But Murders, Pardoning Those That Kill.

Ay, When Fowls Have No Feathers And Fish Have No Fin.

Gloucester, We Have Done Deeds Of Charity, Made Peace Of Enmity, Fair Love Of Hate, Between These Swelling Wrong-incensed Peers.

True, I Talk Of Dreams, Which Are The Children Of An Idle Brain, Begot Of Nothing But Vain Fantasy.

So Doth The Greater Glory Dim The Less: A Substitute Shines Brightly As A King Until A King Be By.

What Can Be Happier Than For A Man, Conscious Of Virtuous Acts, And Content With Liberty, To Despise All Human Affairs?