We must be brief when traitors brave the field.

I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum.

When we are born we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools.

Fairies use flowers for their charactery.

All days are nights to see till I see thee, And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.

And blind oblivion swallowed cities up.

Speak me fair in death.