To be, or not to be: the world's a stage
with the fume of sighs. Love is not love
told by an idiot. O brave new world:
now is the winter full of sound and fury!
To sleep: perchance to dream a summer's day
where love is lost. If music be the food
of true minds then let slip the dogs of war
unto the breach! But never doubt I love
to entertain the time with discontent.
Good night! Out, out! Thou hast not loved
my mistress' eyes! Love is a smoke raised
by any other name—that is the question.
Where love is great no traveler returns
to die before all sins are remembered.
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