Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart, or in the head?

I am bewitched with the rogue's company. If the rascal have not given me medicines to make me love him, I'll be hanged.

O comfort-killing night, image of hell, Dim register and notary of shame, Black stage for tragedies and murders fell, Vast sin-concealing chaos, nurse of blame!

A college of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humor. Dost thou think I care for a satire or an epigram?

Better three hours too soon than a minute too late.

Finish, good lady; the bright day is done, And we are for the Dark.

And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered- We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother