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.
Give me that man That is not passion’s slave.