Destiny and Overcoming

If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me, Without my stir.

And to be king Stands not within the prospect of belief.

If you can look into the seeds of time, And say which grain will grow and which will not, Speak.

The wheel is come full circle.

Men must endure Their going hence, even as their coming hither: Ripeness is all.

It is the stars, The stars above us, govern our conditions.

As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods; They kill us for their sport.

Fortune, good night, smile once more; turn thy wheel!

A good man’s fortune may grow out at heels.

Here is my journey’s end, here is my butt, And very sea-mark of my utmost sail.

This is the night That either makes me or fordoes me quite.

All’s well that ends well: still the fine’s the crown; Whate’er the course, the end is the renown.

And in such indexes, although small pricks To their subsequent volumes, there is seen The baby figure of the giant mass Of things to come.

There’s a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will.

A man that fortune’s buffets and rewards Hast ta’en with equal thanks.

The time is out of joint; O cursed spite, That ever I was born to set it right!

One out of suits with fortune.

O! that a man might know The end of this day’s business, ere it come.

There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries.

We must take the current when it serves, Or lose our ventures.

But I am constant as the northern star, Of whose true-fix’d and resting quality There is no fellow in the firmament.

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world Like a Colossus; and we petty men Walk under his huge legs, and peep about To find ourselves dishonorable graves. 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.

Many things, having full reference To one consent, may work contrariously; As many arrows, loosed several ways, Fly to one mark; as many ways meet in one town; As many fresh streams meet in one salt sea; As many lines close in the dial’s center; So may a thousand actions, once afoot, End in one purpose, and be all well borne Without defeat.

O God! that one might read the book of fate.