We are such stuff as dreams are made on... 

Shall we their fond pageant see? Lord, what fools these mortals be!

If music be the food of love, play on!

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

This is very midsummer madness.

All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players...

This above all: to thine ownself be true.