O, then I see Queen Mab hath been with you. . . . She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate stone On the forefinger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomi Athwart men’s noses as they lie asleep.

Nothing comes from doing nothing.

There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will.

Sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.

The voice of parents is the voice of gods, for to their children they are heaven's lieutenants.

Tired with all these for restful death I cry, As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn.

Doubt is a thief that often makes us fear to tread where we might have won.