Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo, The numbers of the feared.

Good wine needs no bush.

Cursed be he that moves my bones.

Do you set down your name in the scroll of youth, that are written down old with all the characters of age?

POLONIUS: What do you read, my lord? HAMLET: Words, words, words.

The miserable have no other medicine But only hope.

We must be gentle now we are gentlemen.