This above all; to thine own self be true.

The sense of death is most in apprehension, And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies.

What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night, So stumblest on my counsel? *Who are you? Why do you hide in the darkness and listen to my private thoughts?*

O wretched state! o bosom black as death!

Your worm is your only emperor for diet; we fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots.

You cannot make gross sins look clear: To revenge is no valour, but to bear.

These times of woe afford no time to woo.