The purpose of playing is to hold the mirror up the nature.
I to the world am like a drop of water /That in the
ocean seeks another drop.
I had rather be a canker in a hedge t Fair is foul, and foul is fair.
In my mind's eye, Horatio.
How many ages hence /Shall this our lofty scene be acted over.
Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care
What's in a name?
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers:
Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,/Which we ascribe to heaven.
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