All love's pleasure shall not match its woe.

The jury passing on the prisoner's life may in the sworn twelve have a thief or two guiltier than him they try.

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.

By Heaven, I love thee better than myself

I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men.

That in the captains but a choleric word Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.

Tis in my memory lock'd, And you yourself shall keep the key of it.