The Wounds Invisible That Love's Keen Arrows

A Devil, A Born Devil On Whose Nature, Nurture Can Never Stick, On Whom My Pain, Humanly Taken, All Lost, Quite Lost.

Too Much Of Water Hast Thou, Poor Ophelia, And Therefore I Forbid My Tears.

Ross You Must Have Patience, Madam. Lady Macduff He Had None: His Flight Was Madness: When Our Actions Do Not, Our Fears Do Make Us Traitors.

Devoutly To Be Wish'd. To Die, To Sleep; To Sleep, Perchance To Dream—for In That Sleep Of Death What Dreams May Come,when We Have Shuffled Off This Mortal Coil, Must Give Us Pause, There's The Respect, That Makes Calamity Of So Long Life

There's No Art To Find The Mind's Construction In The Face.