O wretched state! O bosom black as death! O limed soul that, struggling to be free, art more engaged! Help, angels! Make assay! Bow, stubborn knees! and, heart with strings of steel, be soft as sinews of the new-born babe!

Do not swear by the moon, for she changes constantly. Then your love would also change.

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.

The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.

so full of shapes is fancy

They told me I was everything. 'Tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.

The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart-see, they bark at me.