This above all; to thine own self be true.
The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones.
Foul whisperings are abroad
Death is my son-in-law. Death is my heir. My daughter he hath wedded. I will die, And leave him all. Life, living, all is Death’s.
Hal, if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse.
Ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear, for I have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet--nay, sometime more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the overleather.