Let me embrace thee, sour adversity, for wise men say it is the wisest course.

Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.

Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.

Forever, and forever, farewell, Cassius! If we do meet again, why, we shall smile; If not, why then this parting was well made.

Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard.

When he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.

I stalk about her door, like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks staying for waftage.