Hamlet

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.

Who would these fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns,—puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?

What to ourselves in passion we propose,
The passion ending,
doth the purpose lose.

There's a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all: since no man has aught of what he leaves, what is't to leave betimes?

The Master and Margarita

I don’t make friends easily as a rule, due to a devilish peculiarity of mine: it’s a strain for me to be with people, and I’m distrustful and suspicious.

But what can be done, the one who loves must share the fate of the one he loves.