To be, or not to be: that is the question’
All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts.’
Brevity is the soul of wit.
Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate
Cupid painted blind
Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears: I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him
The better part of valor is discretion
A rose by any other name would smell as sweet
All that glisters is not gold.
Get thee to a nunnery.
If music be the food of love play on.
Cry “havoc!” and let slip the dogs of war
A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!
The lady doth protest too much, methinks
Beware the Ides of March.
Is this a dagger which I see before me, the handle toward my hand?’
Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo
Now is the winter of our discontent’
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’
