If she be not honest, chaste, and true, there's no man happy.

Fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to herrings, the husband's the bigger.

I would not wish any companion in the world but you.

This thing of darkness I acknowlege mine. There is nothing more confining than the prison we don't know we are in.

Who could refrain that had a heart to love and in that heart courage to make love known?

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.

How now, wit! Whither wander you?