“I am in blood Stepp’d in so far, that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o’er.”

“The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils; The motions of his spirit are dull as night, And his affections dark as Erebus. Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music.”

“Many a true word hath been spoken in jest.”

“All that glisters is not gold; Often have you heard that told: Many a man his life hath sold But my outside to behold: Gilded tombs do worms enfold.”

“Oh, I am fortune’s fool!”

“Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds that lour’d upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.”

Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Ding-dong Hark! now I hear them, – Ding-dong, bell.

For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

I say there is no darkness but ignorance.

I like this place and could willingly waste my time in it.

I am a man more sinned against than sinning.

Confusion now hath made his masterpiece.

One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.

Summer’s lease hath all too short a date.

He jests at scars that never felt a wound.

It is a wise father that knows his own child.

For man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion.

When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk: he trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes.

O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature’s soft nurse, how have I frightened thee, 1710. That thou no more will weigh my eyelids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness?

When beggars die, there are no comets seen; the heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.

Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; Take each man’s censure, but reserve thy judgment.

No, no, I am but shadow of myself: You are deceived, my substance is not here;.

How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees? Iago.

Dispute not with her: she is lunatic.

Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens to the which our wills are gardeners.

Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell. Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, Yet Grace must still look so.

Yet but three come one more. Two of both kinds make up four. Ere she comes curst and sad. Cupid is a knavish lad. Thus to make poor females mad.

My hands are of your color, but I shame to wear a heart so white.

I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.

And sleep, that sometime shuts up sorrow’s eye, Steal me awhile from mine own company.

Therefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion.

And to be merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour. BEATRICE No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then there was a star danced, and under that was I born.

 “Knowledge is the wing wherewith we fly to heaven.”

 “A friend is one that knows you as you are, understands where you have been, accepts what you have become, and still gently allows you to grow.”

“All the worlds a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts.”

 “Expectation is the root of all heartache.” 

 “Things done well and with a care, exempt themselves from fear.” 

 “Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, so do our minutes hasten to their end.” 

“Teach me how I should forget to think.” 

Listen to many, speak to a few.

It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.

There is nothing either good or bad ,but thinking makes it so.

Expectation is the root of all heartache.

Some are born great, others achieve greatness.

The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.

All the world’s a stage.

Go wisely and slowly. Those who rush stumble and fall.

What’s done cannot be undone.

These violent delights have violent ends.

Be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon them.