To be, or not to be, that is the question.
This above all: to thine own self be true.
There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.
Brevity is the soul of wit.
Though this be madness, yet there is method in it.
Doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love.
The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
Give me that man that is not passion’s slave.
What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable.
By indirections find directions out.
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
God hath given you one face, and you make yourselves another.
Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.
This is the very ecstasy of love.
I must be cruel, only to be kind.
The apparel oft proclaims the man.
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
O, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown!
When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.
Doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love.
There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.
Give me that man that is not passion’s slave, and I will wear him in my heart’s core, ay, in my heart of heart.
When we are born, we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools.
The play’s the thing wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king.
Sweets to the sweet.
What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.
The rest is silence.
Good night, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
This is the very ecstasy of love.
To sleep, perchance to dream.
I must be cruel only to be kind.
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
The serpent that did sting thy father’s life, now wears his crown.
O, woe is me, to have seen what I have seen, see what I see!
Madness in great ones must not unwatched go.
Give me my father!
The wheel is come full circle. I am here.
What’s done is done.
It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.
Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.
When we are born, we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools.
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
To be, or not to be, that is the question.
This above all: to thine own self be true.
There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.
Brevity is the soul of wit.
Though this be madness, yet there is method in it.
Doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love.
The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
Give me that man that is not passion’s slave.
What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable.
By indirections find directions out.
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
God hath given you one face, and you make yourselves another.
Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.
This is the very ecstasy of love.
I must be cruel, only to be kind.
The apparel oft proclaims the man.
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
O, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown!
When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.
Doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love.
There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.
Give me that man that is not passion’s slave, and I will wear him in my heart’s core, ay, in my heart of heart.
When we are born, we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools.
The play’s the thing wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king.
Sweets to the sweet.
What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.
The rest is silence.
Good night, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
This is the very ecstasy of love.
To sleep, perchance to dream.
I must be cruel only to be kind.
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
The serpent that did sting thy father’s life, now wears his crown.
O, woe is me, to have seen what I have seen, see what I see!
Madness in great ones must not unwatched go.
Give me my father!
The wheel is come full circle. I am here.
What’s done is done.
It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.
Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.
When we are born, we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools.
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
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