There is no armor against fate death lays his icy hands on kings.

Only the actions of the just, Smell sweet and blossom in their dust.

The honour is overpaid,When he that did the act is commentator.

There is no armor against fate.

Death lays his icy hand on kings.

Death calls ye to the crowd of common men.

There is no armour against fate.

When our souls shall leave this dwelling, the glory of one fair and virtuous action is above all the 'scutcheons on our tomb, or silken banners over us.

Knaves will thrive when honest plainness knows not how to live.

How little room Do we take up in death, that, living, know No bounds!

There is no armour against fate death lays his icy hands on kings.

But every spiteful word she ever wrote him was effortless love clenched in her fists. Her heart screaming for stability in this fiery game of desire.

And now it is time for my story to end, because we have finally reached the beginning.

Agres!” she hissed again even louder this time “WHAT!” Tria smiled “Oh good you are alive.

In many ways, I think it's easier in some ways, or it's more entertaining or more guaranteed to be entertaining than traditional improvising. Again, because you're not just you in your body.

Donald Trump announced that he is not running for president. He would rather spend his time making Gary Busey sell Snapple on the street.

Good heavens, of what un costly material is our earthly happiness composed... if we only knew it. What incomes have we not had from a flower, and how unfailing are the dividends of the seasons.

I have been searching for time past all my life.

The best way to motivate me is to tell me no.

If God really wanted to punish, he'd answer all our prayers.