Brevity is the soul of wit.
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.
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.
The very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.
The undiscovered country from whose bourn No traveller returns.
The native hue of resolution Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought, And enterprises of great pith and moment With this regard their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action.
The insolence of office and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes.
The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets.
The apparel oft proclaims the man.
