Death makes no conquest of this conqueror: For now he lives in fame, though not in life.

How much an ill word may empoison liking!

Romeo: I dreamt a dream tonight. Mercutio: And so did I. Romeo: Well, what was yours? Mercutio: That dreamers often lie. Romeo: In bed asleep while they do dream things true.

Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin, as self-neglecting.

What is a man, if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more. Sure he that made us with such large discourse, looking before and after, gave us not that capability and god-like reason to fust in us unused.

But O, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes.

His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth.