Is it possible he should know what he is, and be that he is?

Never, never, never, never, never! Pray you, undo this button.

Those that much covet are with gain so fond, For what they have not, that which they possess They scatter and unloose it from their bond, And so, by hoping more, they have but less; Or, gaining more, the profit of excess Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain, That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain.

Sometimes we are devils to ourselves When we will tempt the frailty of our powers, Presuming on their changeful potency.

O the world is but a word; were it all yours to give it in a breath, how quickly were it gone!

To be, or not to be, that is the question: Whether 'tis Nobler in the mind to suffer The Slings and Arrows of outrageous Fortune, Or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles, And by opposing end them: to die, to sleep No more; and by a sleep, to say we end The Heart-ache, and the thousand Natural shocks That Flesh is heir to? 'Tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To die to sleep, To sleep, perchance to Dream; Aye, there's the rub.

Presume not that I am the thing I was.