Assume a virtue if you have it not.
Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.... Where be your jibes now, your gambols, your songs, your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table on a roar?
Yet to me what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me—nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.
For conspiracy, I know not how it tastes, though it be dished For me to try how.
He that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed.
They say the tongues of dying men Enforce attention like deep harmony. Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain, For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain.
Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds.
I saw her once Hop forty paces through the public street; And having lost her breath, she spoke, and panted, That she did make defect perfection.
Life every man holds dear, but the dear man Holds honor far more precious-dear than life.
This must my comfort be: That sun that warms you here shall shine on me.