There's little of the melancholy element in her, my lord: she is never sad but when she sleeps; and not ever sad then; for I have heard my daughter say, she hath often dreamt of unhappiness, and waked herself with laughing.

They do not love that do not show their love.

If it be a sin to covet honor, I am the most offending soul.

We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day.

You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with thankfulness. For your own gifts, make yourselves praised.

Speak of me as I am. Nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice.

Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears.