Be to yourself as you would to your friend.

We do not keep the outward form of order, where there is deep disorder in the mind.

Murder most foul, as in the best it it; But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.

To show an unfelt sorrow is an office Which the false man does easy.

O world, world! thus is the poor agent despised. O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set a-work, and how ill requited! Why should our endeavor be so loved, and the performance so loathed?

Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come.

To sleep perchance to dream