‘All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts.’

‘Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?‘

‘Now is the winter of our discontent’

‘Is this a dagger which I see before me, the handle toward my hand?’

‘Beware the Ides of March.‘

‘What’s in a name? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’

‘A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!‘

‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’

‘Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.’