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

In time we hate that which we often fear.

Men at some time are masters of their fates. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.

For such things as you, I can scarce think there's any, ye're so slight.

God's will! my liege, would you and I alone, Without more help, could fight this royal battle!

There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

How now, wit! Whither wander you?