William Shakespeare

Frailty, thy name is woman!

Hell is empty and all the devils are here.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

For stony limits cannot hold love out.

Present fears
Are less than horrible imaginings.

Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.

Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love.

Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste of death but once.
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard.
It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come when it will come.

We will all laugh at gilded butterflies.

Only look up clear;
To alter favor ever is to fear.

Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rims at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen?