The fault, dear Brutus, lies not in our stars, but in ourselves if we are underlings.

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.

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars but in ourselves.

I know not how to tell thee who I am. My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, because it’s an enemy to thee.

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars/ But in ourselves.

Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere.