When the age is in, the wit is out

Throw physic to the dogs; I'll none of it.

O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest, And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death!

The attempt and not the deed confounds us.

There is plenty of time to sleep in the grave

Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other side

Speak of me as I am. Nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice.