Virtue that transgresses is but patched with sin; and sin that amends is but patched with virtue.

We must not make a scarecrow of the law, Setting it up to fear the birds of prey, And let it keep one shape till custom make it Their perch, and not their terror.

Not proud you have, but thankful that you have. Proud can I never be of what I hate, but thankful even for hate that is meant love.

What a terrible era in which idiots govern the blind.

This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands,--This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.

This most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o-erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire.

POLONIUS: What do you read, my lord? HAMLET: Words, words, words.