Trust not your daughter's minds By what you see them act.

POLONIUS: What do you read, my lord? HAMLET: Words, words, words.

With these shreds They vented their complainings, which being answered And a petition granted them, a strange one, To break the heart of generosity, And make bold power look pale, they threw their caps As they would hang them on the horns o' th' moon, Shouting their emulation.

Avaunt, you cullions!

My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, or else my heart concealing it will break.

When once our grace we have forgot, Nothing goes right.

Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter!