All the world's a stage.

What's his offense? Groping for trout in a peculiar river.

Men shut their doors against a setting sun.

Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak; Lay open to my earthy-gross conceit, Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, The folded meaning of your words' deceit.

She speaks poniards, and every word stabs: if her breath were as terrible as her terminations, there were no living near her; she would infect to the north star. I would not marry her, though she were endowed with all that Adam bad left him before he transgressed.

Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow.

Make the upcoming hour overflow with joy, and let pleasure drown the brim.