What A Piece Of Work Is A

Quote: What Angel Wakes Me From My Flowery Bed?

Doubting Things Go Ill Often Hurts More Than To Be Sure They Do; For Certainties Either Are Past Remedies, Or, Timely Knowing, The Remedy Then Born.

I Had As Lief Have Been Myself Alone.

Though Now This Grained Face Of Mine Be Hid In Sap-consuming Winter's Drizzled Snow, And All The Conduits Of My Blood Froze Up, Yet Hath My Night Of Life Some Memory, My Wasting Lamps Some Fading Glimmer Left, My Dull Deaf Ears A Little Use To Hear.

Do Not Swear By The Moon, For She Changes Constantly. Then Your Love Would Also Change.