There is more things in heaven and earth...than are dreamt of by your philosophy.
His injury the gaoler to his pity.
Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry, stray lower where the pleasant fountains lie.
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood.
There's nothing serious in mortality. All is but toys. Renown and grace is dead. The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of.
Cassius has a lean and hungry look; He thinks too much. Such men are dangerous.