Men at some time are masters of their fates. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.

I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking: I could well wish courtesy would invent some other custom of entertainment.

Which means she to deceive, father or mother?

Death-counterfeiting sleep.

Within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king Keeps Death his court.

I would we were all of one mind, and one mind good.

There is a tide in the affairs of men