We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep.

Let each man do his best.

What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god.

Keep time! How sour sweet music is when time is broke and no proportion kept! So is it in the music of men's lives. I wasted time and now doth time waste me.

When we our betters see bearing our woes, We scarcely think our miseries our foes.

They do not abuse the king that flatter him. For flattery is the bellows blows up sin; The thing the which is flattered, but a spark To which that blast gives heat and stronger glowing.

A great perturbation in nature, to receive at once the benefit of sleep and do the effects of watching!