Commit the oldest sins the newest kind of ways.

These words are razors to my wounded heart.

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.

Hal, if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse.

Nimble thought can jump both sea and land.

But yet I'll make assurance double sure, and take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live.

Do as the heavens have done, forget your evil; With them forgive yourself.