I find my zenith doth depend upon A most auspicious star, whose influence If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes Will ever after droop.
There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will.
What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours?
For naught so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give.
They are sick that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing.
Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound Upon a wheel of fire; that mine own tears Do scald like molten lead.