William Shakespeare

The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.

Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.

This above all: to thine own self be true, 
And it must follow, as the night the day, 
Thou canst not then be false to any man.

Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love.

If music be the food of love, play on,
Give me excess of it; that surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation

Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow, 
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing