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How art thou out of breath when thou hast breath
To say to me that thou art out of breath?
William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
reply
Why, what's the matter,
That you have such a February face,
So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness?
William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing
reply
If I be waspish, best beware my sting.
William Shakespeare, The Taming of the Shrew
reply
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.
William Shakespeare, Macbeth