Ambition, the soldier's virtue.

I am a man more sinned against than sinning

If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.

The setting sun, and the music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in rememberance more than long things past.

Look how the world's poor people are amazed at apparitions, signs and prodigies!

Out, damned spot! Out, I say!

Love that well which thou must leave ere long.