It were a grief so brief to part with thee. Farewell.

We cannot conceive of matter being formed of nothing, since things require a seed to start from... Therefore there is not anything which returns to nothing, but all things return dissolved into their elements.

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. . . .

Sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye.

But whate'er I am, nor I nor any man that but man is, With nothing shall be pleased 'til he be eased With being nothing.

where civil blood makes civil hands unclean

Et tu Brute! (You too, Brutus!)