Which shall to all our nights and days to come Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom.

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As you from crimes would pardon'd be, Let your indulgence set me free.

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Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

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Here will be an old abusing of God’s patience and the king’s English.

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Some men never seem to grow old. Always active in thought, always ready to adopt new ideas, they are never chargeable with foggyism. Satisfied, yet ever dissatisfied, settled, yet ever unsettled, they always enjoy the best of what is, are the first to find the best of what will be.

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Listen to many, speak to a few.

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All the world is a stage and we are merely players.

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Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow. When I’m not there, you can sleep with my wife.

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Better three hours too soon than a minute too late.

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Have more than you show, Speak less than you know.

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