For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel: Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him! This was the most unkindest cut of all

Sigh no more ladies, sigh no more, men were deceivers ever

Where every something, being blent together turns to a wild of nothing.

I say, without characters, fame lives long.

How is it that the clouds still hang on you?

I fill up a place, which may be better... when I have made it empty.

We bring forth weeds when our quick minds lie still.