What the great ones do, the less will prattle of

All the world's a stage ... and you better have a zoning variance or it's coming down.

Some kinds of baseness are nobly undergone.

Yield not thy neck To fortunes yoke, but let thy dauntless mind Still ride in triumph over all mischance.

Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry, stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.

Men's vows are women's traitors

Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. Now am I dead, Now am I fled; My soul is in the sky: Tongue, lose thy light; Moon take thy flight. Now die, die, die, die, die.