William Shakespeare

This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands,--This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.

When the mind's free, The Body's delicate.

Tis safter to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.

Hear my soul speak. Of the very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly at your service

A peevish self-willed harlotry it is. *She’s a stubborn little brat.*

It were a grief so brief to part with thee. Farewell.

And will he not come again? And will he not come again? No, no, he is dead. Go to thy deathbed. He never will come again.

What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?

Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell. Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, Yet Grace must still look so.

What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night, So stumblest on my counsel? *Who are you? Why do you hide in the darkness and listen to my private thoughts?*

I have a soul of lead So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.

she shall scant show well that now shows best.

What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours?

I will make thee think thy swan a crow.

Tush! Fear not, my lord, we will not stand to prate; Talkers are no good doers: be assured We come to use our hands and not our tongues.

Conceal me what I am, and be my aid for such disguise as haply shall become the form of my intent.

This rough magic I here abjure and when I have required some heavenly music, which even now I do, to work mine end upon their senses that this airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, bury it certain fathoms in the earth, and deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book.

He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear: And you all know, security Is mortals' chiefest enemy.

Things without all remedy should be without regard: what's done is done.

O teach me how I should forget to think (1.1.224)

Women speak two languages - one of which is verbal.