We Suffer A Lot The Few Things

For It Falls Out That What We Have We Prize Not To The Worth Whiles We Enjoy It, But Being Lacked And Lost, Why, Then We Rack The Value, Then We Find The Virtue That Possession Would Not Show Us While It Was Ours.

... And Death Unloads Thee.

In Limited Professions There's Boundless Theft.

How Many Cowards Whose Hearts Are All As False As Stairs Of Sand, Wear Yet Upon Their Chins The Beards Of Hercules And Frowning Mars, Who Inward Searched, Have Livers White As Milk!

O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore Art Thou Romeo? Deny Thy Father And Refuse Thy Name; Or, If Thou Wilt Not, Be But Sworn My Love... 'tis But Thy Name That Is My Enemy; What's In A Name? That Which We Call A Rose By Any Other Name Would Smell As Sweet.