Philosophique

Some are born great, some achieve greatn
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It is not in the stars to hold our desti
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The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our st
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We are such stuff as dreams are made on,
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What's in a name? That which we call a r
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This above all: to thine own self be tru
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To be, or not to be: that is the questio
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Our doubts are traitors and make us lose
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The miserable have no other medicine but
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If we are true to ourselves, we can not
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Doubt thou the stars are fire, Doubt tha
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Love is a smoke made with the fume of si
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The eyes are the window to your soul.
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We must build bridges of understanding,
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The function of love is to reconstruct t
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