All that glitters is not gold
Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes. Open, locks, Whoever knocks!
The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
These violent delights have violent ends...
Brevity is the soul of wit.
Now is the winter of our discontent.
If music be the food of love, play on.
Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow.
Fair is foul and foul is fair: Hover through the fog and filthy air.
                                                               from my favorite writer WILLIAM SHAKESPARE