The moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun.
Of one that lov'd not wisely but too well.
Who could refrain that had a heart to love and in that heart courage to make love known?
I am a true laborer: I earn that I eat, get that I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness, glad of other men's good, content with my harm.
Ay, when fowls have no feathers and fish have no fin.
There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.