Things done well, and with a care, exempt themselves from fear.
The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets.
The attempt and not the deed confounds us.
Sable Night, mother of Dread and Fear, Upon the world dim darkness doth display, And in her vaulty prison stows the Day.
In time we hate that which we often fear.
I never see thy face but I think upon hellfire.
I knew him tyrannous; and tyrants’ fears decrease not, but grow faster than the years.
Death is a fearful thing.
And then it started like a guilty thing upon a fearful summons.
‘Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss.
