Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.
‘Tis too much proved—that with devotion’s visage And pious action we do sugar o’er The devil himself.
What then? what rests? Try what repentance can: what can it not? Yet what can it when one can not repent? O wretched state! O bosom black as death! O limed soul, that, struggling to be free, Art more engaged!
What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculties! In form, and moving, how express and admirable! In action, how like an angel! !n apprehension, how like a god!
Time be thine, And thy best graces spend it at thy will!
Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven, So lust, though to a radiant angel link’d, Will sate itself in a celestial bed, And prey on garbage.
This the very coinage of your brain: This bodiless creation ecstasy.
This above all; to thine own self be true; And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.
There’s such divinity doth hedge a king, That treason can but peep to what it would.
There’s a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, ’tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all.
There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
