Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty look, repeats his words, Remembers me of his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form

A high hope for a low heaven: God grant us patience!

The venom clamours of a jealous woman poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth.

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

I have heard of your paintings too, well enough; God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another.

O that men's ears should be To counsel deaf but not to flattery!

Our wills and fates do so contrary run.