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Men at some time are masters of their fates.
Men at some time are masters of their fates.
The fault, dear Brutus, is not is our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
Give me that man
That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him
In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart,
As I do thee.
What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties; in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god: the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals! And yet to me what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me--nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.
'A was a man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again.
You can play no part but Pyramus; for Pyramus is a sweet-faced man, a proper man as one shall see in a summer's day, a most lovely gentlemanlike man.
He was a man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again.
Do you know what a man is? Are not birth, beauty, good shape, discourse, manhood, learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, liberality, and such like, the spice and salt that season a man?
But we all are men,
In our own natures frail; and capable
Of our flesh, few are angels.
The man, whom I call deserving the name, is one whose thoughts and exertions are for others rather than himself.
How poor a thing is man!" alas 'tis true,
I'd half forgot it when I chanced on you.