Whistling to keep myself from being afraid.

But far more numerous was the herd of such, Who think too little, and who talk too much.

My love's a noble madness.

Rhyme is the rock on which thou art to wreck.

Here lies my wife: here let her lie! Now she's at rest, and so am I.

Nothing to build, and all things to destroy.

Plots, true or false, are necessary things, To raise up commonwealths and ruin kings.