Give me to drink mandragora.
Men must endure Their going hence, even as their coming hither. Ripeness is all.
No matter where; of comfort no man speak: Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth
He that hath the steerage of my course, Direct my sail.
A ministering angel shall my sister be.
Some kinds of baseness are nobly undergone.