Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma or a hideous dream. The genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council, and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection.

Take each mans censure, but reserve thy judgment.

Trust not your daughter's minds By what you see them act.

He that dies pays all debts.

Men must endure Their going hence, even as their coming hither.

The sense of death is most in apprehension, And the poor beetle that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies.

The tongues of dying men Enforce attention like deep harmony.

This fell sergeant, Death, Is strict in his arrest.

Words pay no debts.

I like not fair terms and a villain's mind.