I despised my arrival on this earth and I despise my departure; it is a tragedy.

Mine eyes Were not in fault, for she was beautiful; Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart, That thought her like her seeming. It had been vicious To have mistrusted her.

We do pray for mercy, and that same prayer doth teach us all to render the deeds of mercy.

These are the forgeries of jealousy; And never, since the middle summer's spring, Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, By paved fountain or by rushy brook, Or in the beached margent of the sea, To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, But with thy brawls thou hast disturbed our sport.

I had rather have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad and to travel for it too!

Go, bid the soldiers shoot.

There is nothing in the world so much like prayer as music is. ~William Shakespeare