Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes.
Give me mine angle, we'll to th' river: there, My music playing far off, I will betray Tawny-finned fishes. My bended hook shall pierce Their slimy jaws; and as I draw them up, I'll think them every one an Antony, And say, 'Ah, ha! are caught!'
The art of our necessities is strange That can make vile things precious.
Why, then the world ’s mine oyster, Which I with sword will open.
The object of Art is to give life a shape.
Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?