O, how full of briers is this working-day world!

Heaven would that she these gifts should have, and I to live and die her slave.

Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.

Young men's love then lies not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.

I have seen better faces in my time Than stands on any shoulder that I see Before me at this instant.

But we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted lusts; whereof I take this that you call love to bea sect or scion.... It is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the will.

You speak an infinite deal of nothing.