Avaunt, you cullions!

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them?

Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger

If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber'd here While these visions did appear.

The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones.

Omittance is no quittance.

Speak low, if you speak love.