My affection hath an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal.

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them?

The undeserver may sleep when the man of action is called on.

O braggart vile and damned furious wight!

But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, Making a famine where abundance lies, Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.

To be a well-favoured man is the gift of fortune; but to write and read comes by nature.

Better conquest never canst thou make than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts against giddy, loose suggestions.