William Shakespeare

I will be brief. Your noble son is mad.

Happy are they that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending.

Benvolio- "By my head, here come the Capulets." Mercutio- "By my heel, I care not.

By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me.

I could a tale unfold whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres, Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand on end Like quills upon the fretful porpentine. But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O list!

Let me twine Mine arms about that body, where against My grained ash an hundred times hath broke And scarr'd the moon with splinters: here I clip The anvil of my sword, and do contest As hotly and as nobly with thy love As ever in ambitious strength I did Contend against thy valour. Know thou first, I loved the maid I married; never man Sigh'd truer breath; but that I see thee here, Thou noble thing! more dances my rapt heart Than when I first my wedded mistress saw Bestride my threshold.

We suffer a lot the few things we lack and we enjoy too little the many things we have.

For trust not him that hath once broken faith

Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears.

Fare thee well, king: sith thus thou wilt appear, Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.

Trifles light as air are to the jealous confirmations strong as proofs of holy writ.

Oh why rebuke you him that loves you so? / Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.

And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear, millions of mischiefs.

I'll have no husband, if you be not he.

I kissed thee ere I killed thee. No way but this, Killing myself, to die upon a kiss.

It is my soul that calls upon my name; How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, like softest music to attending ears! -Romeo

What hands are here? ha! they pluck out mine eyes! Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.” “My hands are of your colour; but I shame to wear a heart so white. A little water clears us of this deed: How easy it is then! Your constancy hath left you unattended.

If thou dost love, proclaim it faithfully.

I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot; Follow your spirit: and upon this charge, Cry — God for Harry! England and Saint George!

Madam, you have bereft me of all words, Only my blood speaks to you in my veins.

Tis in my memory lock'd, And you yourself shall keep the key of it.