My business was great, and in such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy.

Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

Can we outrun the heavens?

Conceal me what I am, and be my aid for such disguise as haply shall become the form of my intent.

There's place and means for every man alive.

But miserable most, to love unloved? This you should pity rather than despise

To hold, as 't were, the mirror up to nature.