Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

I rather would entreat thy company; To see the wonders of the world abroad, Than, living dully sluggardized at home, Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.

No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself, But by reflection, by some other things.

She's good, being gone.

Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak; Lay open to my earthy-gross conceit, Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, The folded meaning of your words' deceit.

Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible to feelings as to sight?

she shall scant show well that now shows best.