On Fortune’s cap we are not the very button.
O shame! where is thy blush?
O God! O God! How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world!
Neither a borrower nor a lender be; For loan oft loses both itself and friend.
My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: Words without thoughts never to heaven go.
Madness in great ones must not unwatch’d go.
I will speak daggers to her, but use none; My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites.
I shall the effect of this good lesson keep, As watchman to my hear.
I must be cruel, only to be kind.
Good night sweet prince: And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
God hath given you one face, and you make yourselves another.
Give thy thoughts no tongue.