And he goes through life, his mouth open, and his mind closed.

Sometimes, less is more.

Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death the memory be green.

Give me mine angle, we'll to th' river: there, My music playing far off, I will betray Tawny-finned fishes. My bended hook shall pierce Their slimy jaws; and as I draw them up, I'll think them every one an Antony, And say, 'Ah, ha! are caught!'

Conscience is a blushing, shamefaced spirit than mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills one full of obstacles.

In maiden meditation, fancy free.

At this hour Lie at my mercy all mine enemies.