William Shakespeare

I do desire we may be better strangers.

The quality of mercy is not strained; it droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath.

Lord, what fools these mortals be!

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.

The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

To do were as easy as to know what were good to do.

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.

Double, double toil and trouble; fire burn and cauldron bubble.

When shall we three meet again in thunder, lightning, or in rain?

Out, damned spot! Out, I say!