To be, or not to be, that is the question.
This above all: to thine own self be true.
Doubt thou the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move. Doubt truth to be a liar, But never doubt I love.
There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.
We know what we are, but know not what we may be.
When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.
Give me that man that is not passions slave.
Conscience does make cowards of us all.
The play’s the thing wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king.
Brevity is the soul of wit.
What a piece of work is man!
This is the very ecstasy of love.
Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t.
Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.
When words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain.
The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
The readiness is all.
When beggars die, there are no comets seen; the heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.
I must be cruel only to be kind.
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space.
O, woe is me, to have seen what I have seen, see what I see!
I must be cruel, only to be kind.
This is the very ecstasy of love.
The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
To sleep, perchance to dream ay, theres the rub.
The time is out of joint.
Diseases desperate grown by desperate appliance are relieved, or not at all.
Sweets to the sweet.
Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t.
There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray, lover, remember.
I will speak daggers to her, but use none.
The cat will mew and the dog will have his day.
To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.
Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have immortal longings in me.
The rest is silence.
There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.
Madness in great ones must not unwatched go.
That we would do, we should do when we would.
No legacy is so rich as honesty.
When he himself might his quietus make with a bare bodkin?
One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.
O God, God, how weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!
I am but mad north-northwest. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.
I will speak daggers to her, but use none.
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be, for loan oft loses both itself and friend.
There is nothing good or bad, but thinking makes it so.
I must be cruel, only to be kind.
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