His life was gentle; and the elements So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, THIS WAS A MAN!
Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts.
By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes.
But whate'er I am, nor I nor any man that but man is, With nothing shall be pleased 'til he be eased With being nothing.
I can express no kinder sign of love, than this kind kiss.
To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof little more than a little is by much too much.