[Your decision as to whether it is a sequitur or non-sequitur reply]
Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.
Tell me where is fancy bred,
Or in the heart, or in the head?
“My crown is in my heart, not in my head,
Nor decked with diamonds and Indian stones,
Nor to be seen; my crown is called contentment;
A crown it is, that seldom kings enjoy”
And a play’s the thing, wherein we’ll catch the conscience of the king.
Conscience is but a word that cowards use.
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.
But, good my brother,
Do not as some ungracious pastors do,
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven
"The more fool, Madonna, to mourn for your brother’s soul being in heaven. "
Feste, the Fool, in Twelfth Night
But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief
That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. . . .
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars
As daylight doth a lamp; her eye in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright
That birds would sing and think it were not night.