It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishment the scroll. I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul.

Thick is the darkness--
Sunward, O, sunward!
Rough is the highway--
Onward, still onward!
Dawn harbors surely
East of the shadows.
Facing us somewhere
Spread the sweet meadows.
Upward and forward!
Time will restore us:
Light is above us,
Rest is before us.

Shakespeare and Rembrandt have in common the faculty of quickening speculation and compelling the minds of men to combat and discussion.

To be a good Briton, a man must trade profitably, marry respectably, live cleanly, avoid excess, revere the established order, and wear his heart in his breeches pocket or anywhere but on his sleeve.

Under the bludgeonings of chance / My head is bloody, but unbowed.

I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul.