No legacy is so rich as honesty.

A glooming peace this morning with it brings; The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; Some shall be pardon’d, and some punished: For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

The robb’d that smiles, steals something from the thief; He robs himself that spends a bootless grief.

Sweets to the sweet.

This above all: to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.

Absence from those we love is self from self – a deadly banishment.

O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest, And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death!

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.

Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever,- One foot in sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never.

Women may fall when there’s no strength in men. Act II.

So full of artless jealousy is guilt, It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.

I despised my arrival on this earth and I despise my departure; it is a tragedy.

But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber’d here While these visions did appear.

Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; Lillies that fester smell far worse than weeds.

Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.

Do not swear by the moon, for she changes constantly. then your love would also change.

There was a star danced, and under that was I born.

O, wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, That has such people in’t!

I wasted time, and now doth time waste me. Act V, Scene V.

“My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: Words without thoughts never to heaven go.”

The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.

Come what come may, time and the hour run through the roughest day.