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.
Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires.
Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t.
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.
Presume not that I am the thing I was.
Brevity is the soul of wit.
Expectation is the root of all heartache.
The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.
Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.
Listen to many, speak to a few.
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
Conscience doth make cowards of us all.
In time we hate that which we often fear.
How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a weary world.
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.
Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak.
Let me be that I am and seek not to alter me.
My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: Words without thoughts never to heaven go.
Et tu, Brute?
I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow, than a man swear he loves me.