Ромео и Джульетта

Give me that man that is not passion's slave, and I will wear him in my heart's core, in my heart of heart, as I do thee.

There's a divinity that shapes our ends,
Rough-hew them how we will.

Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow
of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath
borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how
abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rims at
it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know
not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your
gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment,
that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one
now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen?

Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.

O God, I could be bound in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space – were it not that I have bad dreams.

The Play's the Thing, wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King.

You cannot, sir, take from me any thing that I will more willingly part withal: except my life, except my life, except my life.

The Devil hath power
To assume a pleasing shape.

Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting
That would not let me sleep.

The rest, is silence.