Сонеты, трагедии, комедии

The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

This above all: to thine own self be true.

Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night, sweet prince;
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

Sweets to the sweet.

One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.

Brevity is the soul of wit.

Though this be madness, yet there is method in't.

To die, to sleep -
To sleep, perchance to dream - ay, there's the rub,
For in this sleep of death what dreams may come...”
― William Shakespeare, Hamlet

Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love.

This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.