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We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.
---William Shakespeare, The Tempest
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.
Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace,
Yet Grace must still look so.
William Shakespeare, Macbeth
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Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,
Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears; and sometime voices,
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open, and show riches
Ready to drop upon me; that, when I waked,
I cried to dream again.
William Shakespeare, The Tempest
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Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.
William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
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