What can be happier than for a man, conscious of virtuous acts, and content with liberty, to despise all human affairs?

A woman is a dish for the gods, if the devil dress her not.

I would there were no age between sixteen and three-and-twenty, or that youth would sleep out the rest; for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting

New customs, Though they be never so ridiculous (Nay, let em be unmanly), yet are followed.

To die, to sleep - To sleep, perchance to dream - ay, there's the rub, For in this sleep of death what dreams may come.

Master, go on, and I will follow thee To the last gasp with truth and loyalty.

Sweet are the uses of adversity which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, wears yet a precious jewel in his head.