To unpathed waters, undreamed shores.
Can one desire too much of a good thing?
To think but nobly of my grandmother: Good wombs have borne bad sons.
Oh, I am fortune's fool!
I'll break my staff, bury it certain fathoms in the earth, and deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book!
I profess not talking: only this, Let each man do his best.