“The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils; The motions of his spirit are dull as night, And his affections dark as Erebus. Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music.”

“I am in blood Stepp’d in so far, that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o’er.”

“The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.”

“He that hath a beard is more than a youth, and he that hath no beard is less than a man. He that is more than a youth is not for me, and he that is less than a man, I am not for him.”

“As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods. They kill us for their sport.”

“Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world Like a Colossus; and we petty men Walk under his huge legs, and peep about To find ourselves dishonourable graves.”

“I am not bound to please thee with my answer.”

“And thus I clothe my naked villainy With odd old ends stol’n out of holy writ; And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.”

“The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. An evil soul producing holy witness Is like a villain with a smiling cheek, A goodly apple rotten at the heart. O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!”

“They do not love that do not show their love. The course of true love never did run smooth. Love is a familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but Love.”

Beware the ides of March.

When he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead! In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger.

“Sweet are the uses of adversity which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, wears yet a precious jewel in his head.”

Lord, what fools these mortals be!

O God, I could be bound in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space – were it not that I have bad dreams.

Peace? I hate the word as I hate hell and all Montagues.

“To die, to sleep – To sleep, perchance to dream – ay, there’s the rub, For in this sleep of death what dreams may come...”

What’s past is prologue.

Brevity is the soul of wit.

“The breaking of so great a thing should make A greater crack: the round world Should have shook lions into civil streets, And citizens to their dens.”

No legacy is so rich as honesty.

A glooming peace this morning with it brings; The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; Some shall be pardon’d, and some punished: For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

The robb’d that smiles, steals something from the thief; He robs himself that spends a bootless grief.