Look to her, Moor, if thou has eyes to see. She has deceived her father, and may thee.

No matter where; of comfort no man speak: Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth

Tell them, that, to ease them of their griefs, Their fear of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, Their pangs of love, with other incident throes That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them.

To move is to stir, and to be valiant is to stand; therefore, if tou art mov'd, thou runst away. (To be angry is to move, to be brave is to stand still. Therefore, if you're angry, you'll run away.)

There is an old poor man,. . . . Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger.

Will you walk out of the air, my lord? HAMLET Into my grave.

Many dream not to find, neither deserve, and yet are steeped in favors.