The undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns.
Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian or an ordinary man has; but I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit.
Sweets to the sweet.
It is great To do that thing that ends all other deeds, Which shackles accidents and bolts up change.
Sleep knits up the raveled sleeve of care.
As a decrepit father takes delight To see his active child do deeds of youth, So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite, Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth.