Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form.

Dreams, indeed, are ambition; for the very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream. And I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality that it is but a shadow's shad.

What I am and what I would are as secret as maidenhead; to your ears divinity, to any others profanation.

Now cracks a noble heart. Good night sweet prince And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

Let not light see my black and deep desires. They eye wink at the hand, yet let that be which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.

True, I talk of dreams; which are children of the idle brain, begot of nothing but vain fantasy; which is as thin of substance as air and more inconstant than the wind.

Don't judge a man's conscience by looking at his face cause he may have a bad heart.

Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die, Passing through nature to eternity.

What must be shall be.

They are but beggars that can count their worth.