Rest, rest, perturbed spirit! He makes a swan-like end, fading in music. O, she misused me past the endurance of a block. Let every eye negotiate for itself and trust no agent. Life... is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury; signifying nothing. Love is merely madness... Madness in great ones must not unwatched go. Men at some time are masters of their fates. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings. Service is no heritage. Now, good digestion wait on appetite, and health on both! | 
