Though music oft hath such a charm to make bad good, and good provoke to harm.
Away! Thou'rt poison to my blood.
Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.
What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god.
The sudden hand of Death close up mine eye!
Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.