Julius Caesar

Beware the ides of March.

Cowards die many times before their deaths;

The valiant never taste of death but once.

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.