I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.

For to be wise and love exceeds man's might.

Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off ... Do not for ever with thy vailed lids Seek for thy noble father in the dust.

A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!

Ay me! for aught that I could ever read, Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth. But, either it was different in blood,- Or else it stood upon the choice of friends,- Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it.

Most dangerous is that temptation that doth goad us on to sin in loving virtue.

O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil.