Since Shakespeare had a feel for revolutionary rhetoric, let’s all cry: “Peace, freedom and liberty!

- Be thou not technical with me,/Or else thine input valve may swift receive/a hearty helping of my golden foot.

You mar our labour: keep your cabins:you do assist the storm[...] What cares these roarers for the name of king?

To the end of this age. Oh, a thousand yearsWill Hardly leach,” he thought, “this dust of that fire.

These violent delights have violent endsAnd in their triump die, like fire and powderWhich, as they kiss, consume

O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! And yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all hooping.

He is indeed the true enchanter, whose spell operates, not upon the senses, but upon the imagination and the heart.

Who knows himself a braggart, let him fear this, for it will come to pass that every braggart shall be found an ass.

You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome,Knew you not Pompey?

You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives and conned them out of rings?

I can call spirits from the vasty deep."Why so can I, or so can any man. But will they come when you do call for them?

When I read Shakespeare I am struck with wonder that such trivial people should muse and thunder in such lovely language.

I have lived one step away from losing my mind for years. I am quick and accurate in spotting unstable streaks in others.

I have no spurTo prick the sides of my intent, but onlyVaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itselfAnd falls on the other.

Imitations produce pain or pleasure, not because they are mistaken for realities, but because they bring realities to mind.