Good night good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.
The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves
Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?
It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.
You speak an infinite deal of nothing.
Words are easy, like the wind; faithful friends are hard to find.
By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes.