We suffer a lot the few things we lack and we enjoy too little the many things we have.

Now entertain conjecture of a time When creeping murmur and the poring dark Fills the wide vessel of the universe.

Would it not grieve a woman to be over-mastered by a piece of valiant dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marle?

Glory is like a circle in the water

It is my soul that calls upon my name; How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, like softest music to attending ears! -Romeo

Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself are much condemned to have an itching palm.

Our jovial star reigned at his birth.