O Death, made proud with pure and princely beauty!

To sue to live, I find I seek to die; And, seeking death, find life: let it come on.

Hamlet: Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring? Ophelia: 'Tis brief, my lord. Hamlet: As woman's love.

The clamorous owl that nightly hoots and wonders At our quaint spirits.

Madam, you have bereft me of all words, Only my blood speaks to you in my veins.

O, it is excellent To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous To use it like a giant.

Blessings of your heart, you brew good ale.