But thought's the slave of life, and life time's fool.

Love goes toward love.

Do not speak like a death's-head, do not bid me remember mine end.

Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you-trippingly on the tongue; but if you mouth it, as many of your players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus, but use all gently; for in the very torrent, tempest, and as I may say, the whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness.

All love's pleasure shall not match its woe.

For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings.

Every subject's duty is the Kings, but every subject's soul is his own.