Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven; Whilst, like a puff'd and reckless libertine, Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads And recks not his own read.

It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover.

The rest, is silence.

It is lost at dice, what ancient honor won.

O God, I could be bound in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space – were it not that I have bad dreams.

For where thou art, there is the world itself, With every several pleasure in the world, And where thou art not, desolation.

I drink to the general joy o’ the whole table." Macbeth