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Et tu, Brute!
what an ass am I!
Hell is empty And all the devils are here.
Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't
It is a tale told by an idiot,
There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so
All the world’s a stage And all the men and women merely players
Parting is such sweet sorrow
This above all: to thine ownself be true
Men of few words are the best men
A plague o' both your houses!
Wherefore art thou Romeo?
Commit the oldest sins
Something Wicked This Way Comes (mask)
the game is afoot
He thinks too much: such men are dangerous
We are such stuff As dreams are made on
To be, or not to be (black)
Why, then the world's my oyster
Why, then the world's my oyster (SE)
We are such stuff As dreams are made on
You pay a great deal too dear for what’s given freely
Nothing will come of nothing
Hell is empty And all the devils are here
A plague o' both your houses!
I like this place And willingly could waste my time in it.
A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!
A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!
Is this a dagger which I see before me
For the rain, it raineth every day
For the rain it raineth every day
Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under ‘t.
Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under ‘t.
To be, or not to be
That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet
That which we call a rose By any name would smell as sweet
He hath an excellent stomach.
The breaking of so great a thing should make a greater crack
The breaking of so great a thing should make a greater crack (earth edition)
The breaking of so great a thing should make a greater crack (heart edition)
Once more unto the breach
More sinned against than sinning.
O brave new world, That has such people in ’t!
too much of a good thing
a heart of gold
Something wicked this way comes.
Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none
Have more than you show, speak less than you know


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