"Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep."
"So. Lie there, my art."
"We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep."
"...and then, in dreaming, / The clouds methought would open and show riches / Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked / I cried to dream again."
"There's meaning in thy snores."
"Their manners are more gentle, kind, than of our generation you shall find."
"At this hourLie at my mercy all mine enemies."
"Thou, my slave,As thou report'st thyself, was then her servant,And for thou wast a spirit too delicateTo act her earthy and abhorred commands,Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee,By help of her more potent ministersAnd in her most unmitigable rage,Into a cloven pine, within which riftImprisoned thou didst painfully remainA dozen years; within which space she diedAnd left thee there, where thou didst vent thy groansAs fast as mill wheels strike."
"O brave new world,That has such people in ’t!-Miranda"
"Though with their high wrongs I am struck to th' quick,Yet with my nobler reason 'gainst my furyDo I take part."
"Let us not burthen our remembrance withA heaviness that's gone."
"This rough magicI here abjure, and, when I have requiredSome heavenly music, which even now I do,To work mine end upon their senses thatThis airy charm is for, I'll break my staff,Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,And deeper than did ever plummet soundI'll drown my book."
"I might call him. A thing divine, for nothing natural. I ever saw so noble."
"The truth you speak doth lack some gentlenessAnd time to speak it in. You rub the soreWhen you should bring the plaster."
"Good wombs have borne bad sons."-- (Miranda, I:2)"
"What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyesWould, with themselves, shut up my thoughts..."
"Your tale, sir, would cure deafness."
"His forward voice now is to speak well of his friend. His backward voice is to utter foul speeches and to detract."
"She will outstrip all praise and make it halt behind her."