William Shakespeare

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.

Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.

To thine own self be true.

The course of true love never did run smooth.

Brevity is the soul of wit.

To be, or not to be, that is the question.

All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.

It is a wise father that knows his own child.

Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow.

The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.