You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.
You are not wood, you are not stones, but men.
This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-Paradise.
Stones have been known to move and trees to speak.
Are there no stones in heaven But what serves for thunder?