“If we are true to ourselves, we can not be false to anyone.”

Grief makes one hour ten.

You speak an infinite deal of nothing.

Though she be but little, she is fierce!

Well, honor is the subject of my story.

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

You will never age for me, nor fade, nor die.

God has given you one face, and you make yourself another.

We know what we are, but not what we may be.

Expectation is the root of all heartache.

These violent delights have violent ends And in their triump die, like fire and powder Which, as they kiss, consume.

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.

The robbed that smiles, steals something from the thief.

Honesty is the best policy. If I lose mine honor, I lose myself.

I would not wish any companion in the world but you.

This above all: to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.