Better to die ten thousand deaths, Than wound my honour.

The sense of honour is of so fine and delicate a nature, that it is only to be met with in minds which are naturally noble, or in such as have been cultivated by good examples, or a refined education.

The honors of this world, what are they but puff, and emptiness, and peril of falling?

Content thyself to be obscurely good. When vice prevails, and impious men bear sway, the post of honor is a private station.

She (Brown) cannot hear. She's deaf. She opened her mouth, your honor, only to show you she wasn't chewing gum.

As to honor - you know - it's a very fine mediaeval inheritance which women never got hold of. It wasn't theirs.