Fishes live in the sea, as men do a-land; the great ones eat up the little ones.

Polonius: Do you know me, my lord? Hamlet: Excellent well. You are a fishmonger.

This music crept by me upon the waters, Allaying both their fury and my passion With its sweet air: thence I have follow’d it.

But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.

The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burnt on the water.

Until I know this sure uncertainty, I'll entertain the offered fallacy.

Love's stories written in love's richest books. To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.