Murder most foul, as in the best it it; But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.

This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; a foolish extravagant spirit full of forms, figures, shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions; these are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater, and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion.

Lady, you know no rules of charity, Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.

What is a man, if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more. Sure he that made us with such large discourse, looking before and after, gave us not that capability and god-like reason to fust in us unused.

So, you are very welcome to our house. It must appear in other ways than words, Therefore, I scant this breathing courtesy.

Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.

We are such stuff that dreams are made of.