Date: 1603

"The head is not more native to the heart, / The hand more instrumental to the mouth, / Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father."

— Shakespeare, William (1564-1616)

Date: 1603

"Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain / If with too credent ear you list his songs, / Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open / To his unmastered importunity."

— Shakespeare, William (1564-1616)

Date: 1603

"There's something in his soul / O'er which his melancholy sits on brood, / And I do doubt the hatch and the disclose / Will be some danger."

— Shakespeare, William (1564-1616)

Date: 1603

"O wretched state, O bosom black as death, / O limèd soul that, struggling to be free, / Art more engaged!"

— Shakespeare, William (1564-1616)

Date: 1603

"Bow, stubborn knees; and heart with strings of steel, / Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe"

— Shakespeare, William (1564-1616)

Date: 1603

"And let me wring your heart; for so I shall / If it be made of penetrable stuff, / If damnèd custom have not brassed it so / That it is proof and bulwark against sense."

— Shakespeare, William (1564-1616)

Date: 1603

"Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting / That would not let me sleep."

— Shakespeare, William (1564-1616)

Date: 1603

"And that his soul may be as damned and black / As hell whereto it goes."

— Shakespeare, William (1564-1616)

Date: 1603

"Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul, / And there I see such black and grainèd spots / As will not leave their tinct. "

— Shakespeare, William (1564-1616)

Date: 1603

"Haste, haste me to know it, that with wings as swift / As meditation or the thoughts of love / May sweep to my revenge."

— Shakespeare, William (1564-1616)