Out, you tallow-face! You baggage!
Oft expectation fails, and most oft there where most it promises; and oft it hits where hope is coldest, and despair most fits.
When our actions do not, our fears do make us traitors.
In Shakespeare's time, as in ours and all other times, the paths of men and women do not often run in exactly the same directions, except to the common graves that hold us all.
What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason; how infinite in faculties; in form and moving, how express and admirable! In action, how like an angel; in apprenhension, how like a god; the beauty of the world the paragon of animals! And yet to me what is this quintessence of dust?
You, minion, are too saucy.
The sweat of industry would dry and die, But for the end it works to.
But tis strange: And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, the Instruments of Darkness tell us truths, win us with honest trifles, to betray's in deepest consequence.
Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow.
Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear.
Done to death by slanderous tongue.
Good words are better than bad strokes, Octavius.