I thank you all and here dismiss you all, and to the love and favor of my country commit myself, my person, and the cause.

This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven.

Hamlet: Lady, shall I lie in your lap? Ophelia: No, my lord. Hamlet: DId you think I meant country matters? Ophelia: I think nothing, my lord. Hamlet: That's a fair thought to lie between maids' legs. Ophelia: What is, my lord? Hamlet: Nothing.

'Tis thought the king is dead; we will not stay. The bay trees in our country are all wither'd.

He capers, he dances, he has eyes of youth, he writes verses, he speaks holiday, he smells April and May.

What, no more ceremony? See, my women! Against the blown rose may they stop their nose That kneel'd unto the buds.

With caution judge of probability. Things deemed unlikely, e'en impossible, experience oft hath proved to be true.