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Now is the winter of our discontent
How sharper than a serpent's tooth is it to have a thankless child
If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, do we not revenge?
I am one who loved not wisely but too well
All the world's 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
Fair is foul, foul is fair, hover through the fog and filthy air
Some are born great, some achieve greatness and some have greatness thrust upon them
Cowards die many times before their deaths, the valient never taste of death but once.
To be or not to be; That is the question
Goodnight, goodnight! parting is such sweet sorrow, that i shall say good night till it be morrow