Why what a fool was I to this drunken monster for a God. - Caliban

What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts.

I can give the loser leave to chide.

Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off ... Do not for ever with thy vailed lids Seek for thy noble father in the dust.

Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth.

Boldness be my friend.

Farewell, a long farewell to all my greatness! This is the state of man: today he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, tomorrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him: The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, And - when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a-ripening - nips his root, And then he falls, as I do.