Tax not so bad a voice to slander music any more than once.

By my troth, I care not; a man can die but once; we owe God a death and let it go which way it will he that dies this year is quit for the next

Men should be what they seem; Or those that be not, would they might seem none!.

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.

Do not speak like a death's-head, do not bid me remember mine end.

His worst fault is, he's given to prayer; he is something peevish that way.

How many fond fools serve mad jealousy!