A plague on both your houses.
Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you.
We few. We happy few. We band of brothers, for he today That sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother.
Speak comfortable words.
To die, to sleep - To sleep, perchance to dream - ay, there's the rub, For in this sleep of death what dreams may come.
Make the doors upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the casement; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole; stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney.