Of all base passions, fear is the most accursed.

A maiden hath no tongue--but thought.

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them?

What ugly sights of death within mine eyes!

If I shall be condemned Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else But what your jealousies awake, I tell you 'Tis rigor and not law.

Suffer love; a good epithet! I do suffer love, indeed, for I love thee against my will.

Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week? Or sell eternity to get a toy? For one grape who will the vine destroy?