Make you a sword of me?

I am not in the giving vein to-day.

Frailty, thy name is woman!

Neither a borrower nor a lender be, for loan oft loses both itself and friend, and borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.

A plague o' both your houses!

What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

O, I am fortune's fool!

It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing

Yet do I fear thy nature, it is too full o' th' milk of human kindness to catch the nearest way.

then, must you speak of one that lov'd not wisely but too well;

O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; it is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock the meat it feeds on.

If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?

The quality of mercy is not strain'd, it droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath: it is twice bless’d; It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.

What accursed hand hath made thee handless in thy father's sight? What fool hath added water to the sea?

Nothing can come of nothing: speak again.

Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides: Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.

Cowards die many times before their deaths, the valiant never taste of death but once.

How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, that has such people in't.

We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep

The better part of valor is discretion, in the which better part I have sav'd my life.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; or close the wall up with our English dead!

Full fathom five thy father lies; of his bones are coral made; those are pearls that were his eyes;

The eagle suffers little birds to sing

Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things as willingly as one would kill a fly; and nothing grieves me heartily indeed, but that I cannot do ten thousand more.

This is a way to kill a wife with kindness; and thus I'll curb her mad and headstrong humor.

Lord, what fools these mortals be!

If music be the food of love, play on

The course of true love never did run smooth.

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.