Don't waste your love on somebody, who doesn't value it.

Then is it sin to rush into the secret house of death. Ere death dare come to us?

He that filches from me my good name robs me of that which enriches him and makes me poor indeed.

Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves, where manners ne'er were preached.

The undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns.

I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical; nor the courtier's, which is proud; not the soldier's which is ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politic; nor the lady's, which is nice; nor the lover's, which is all these: but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, which, by often rumination, wraps me in a most humorous sadness.

Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut.