Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.

There's little of the melancholy element in her, my lord: she is never sad but when she sleeps; and not ever sad then; for I have heard my daughter say, she hath often dreamt of unhappiness, and waked herself with laughing.

Zounds! sir, you are one of those that will not serve God if the devil bid you.

Lay on, McDuff, and be damned he who first cries, 'Hold, enough!

I’ll look to like, if looking liking move; But no more deep will I endart mine eye than your consent gives strength to make it fly.

Thou art a boil, a plague sore, an embossed carbuncle in my corrupted blood.

We are such stuff that dreams are made of.