Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, That not your trespass but my madness speaks.
Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up. Be that thou know'st thou art and then thou art as great as that thou fear'st.
What a piece of work is a man
Men's faults do seldom to themselves appear.
Let him smell his way to Dover!
The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burnt on the water.