William Shakespeare

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Cowards die many times before their deaths;

The valiant never taste of death but once.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer's lease hath all too short a date

Cry 'Havoc!,' and let slip the dogs of war.

Men at some time are masters of their fates:

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,

But in ourselves, that we are underlings.

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;

I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their bones.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments.