The plants look up to heaven, from whence they have their nourishment.
Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant can trickle when she wounds!
When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand.
I begin to find an idle and fond bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny, who sways, not as it hath power, but as it is suffered.
If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.
O,speak to me no more;these words like daggers enter my ears.(a fancy way of saying SHUT UP!)" — William Shakespeare "hamlet