Come, come, and sit you down, you shall not budge. / You go not till I set you up a glass / Where you may see the inmost part of you.

Assume a virtue, if you have it not.

Such an act / That blurs the grace and blush of modesty, / Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose / From the fair forehead of an innocent love, / And sets a blister there.

O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain.

Leave wringing of your hands. Peace, sit you down, / And let me wring your heart, for so I shall, / If it be made of penetrable stuff;

These words like daggers enter in mine ears;

For ’tis the sport to have the enginer / Hoist with his own petard,

Look here upon this picture, and on this, / The counterfeit presentment of two brothers.

Mad as the sea and wind, when both contend / Which is the mightier.

But like the owner of a foul disease, / To keep it from divulging, let it feed / Even on the pith of life.