Ariel: Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
Stephano: He that dies pays all debts.
For she had a tongue with a tang,
Would cry to a sailor, "Go hang!"
She loved not the savor of tar nor of pitch,
Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she did itch.
Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang!
Prospero: Me, poor man, my library was dukedom large enough.
Sebastian: He is winding the watch of his wit; by and by it will strike.
Prospero: We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.
Prospero: What seest thou else
In the dark backward and abysm of time?
If thou rememberest aught ere thou camest here,
How thou camest here thou mayst.
Antonio: What's past is prologue.
Stephano: I do begin to have bloody thoughts.
Prospero: We are such stuff as dreams are made on.