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

Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears: But yet It is our trick; nature her custom holds, Let shame say what it will: when these are gone, The woman will be out. — Adieu, my lord! I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze, But that this folly drowns it.

This is the short and the long of it.

The means that heaven yields must be embraced, and not neglected; else, if heaven would, and we will not heaven's offer, we refuse the proffered means of succor and redress.

The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger.

More of your conversation would infect my brain.

Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light