Who riseth from a feast With that keen appetite that he sits down?
Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep.
The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burnt on the water.
Man, proud man, drest in a little brief authority, most ignorant of what he's most assur d, glassy essence, like an angry ape, plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, as make the angels weep.
Give to a gracious message An host of tongues, but let ill tidings tell Themselves when they be felt.