O, full of scorpions is my mind!
Should the poor be flattered? No; let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp, and crook the pregnant hinges of the knee where thrift may follow fawning.
To be, or not to be, that is the question.
I were better to be eaten to death with a rust than to be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May.
If all the year were playing holidays; To sport would be as tedious as to work.