“God shall be my hope, my stay, my guide and lantern to my feet.”

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.

I’m content to stand on tradition. I’m even more content to wipe my feet on it.

With aching hands and bleeding feet We dig and heap, lay stone on stone; We bear the burden and the heat Of the long day, and wish ’twere done. Not till the hours of light return All we have built do we discern.

If the shoe doesn’t fit, must we change the foot?

If you drive a car, I’ll tax the street; if you try to sit, I’ll tax your seat; if you get too cold, I’ll tax the heat; if you take a walk, I’ll tax your feet.

Even when I was close to defeat I rose to my feet

It embarrasses me to think of all those years I was buying silk suits and alligator shoes that were hurting my feet; cars that I just parked, and the dust would just build up on them.

But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Everything exists, everything is true and the earth is just a bit of dust beneath our feet.