O, let me kiss that hand! KING LEAR: Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality.

But I am constant as the Northern Star, Of whose true fixed and resting quality There is no fellow in the firmament.

O love, be moderate, allay thy ecstasy, In measure rain thy joy, scant this excess!

If there were reason for these miseries, then into limits could I bind my woes. If the winds rages, doth not the sea wax mad, threat'ning the welkin with its big-swoll'n face? And wilt though have a reason for this coil? I am the sea. Hark how her sighs doth blow. She is the weeping welkin, I the earth.

If she lives till doomsday, she'll burn a week longer than the whole world.

Time travels at different speeds for different people. I can tell you who time strolls for, who it trots for, who it gallops for, and who it stops cold for.

And sleep, that sometime shuts up sorrow's eye, Steal me awhile from mine own company.