I can call spirits from the vasty deep.
Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death the memory be green.
Better three hours too soon than a minute too late.
Your worm is your only emperor for diet; we fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots.
No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine And made no deeper wounds?
Good morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's Day, All in the morn betime, And I a maid at your window, To be your valentine.