William Shakespeare

Fish not, with this melancholy bait, For this fool gudgeon, this opinion. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 1.

Fish not, with this melancholy bait, For this fool gudgeon, this opinion. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 1.

All things that are, Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. How like a younker or a prodigal The scarfed read more

All things that are, Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. How like a younker or a prodigal The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind! How like the prodigal doth she return, With over-weather'd ribs and ragged sails, Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind! -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 6.

I would fain die a dry death. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 1.

I would fain die a dry death. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 1.

But that I am forbid
To tell the secrets of my prison house,
I could a tale read more

But that I am forbid
To tell the secrets of my prison house,
I could a tale unfold whose lightest word
Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,
Make thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres,
Thy knotted and combined locks to part,
And each particular hair to stand on end
Like quills upon the fretful porpentine.

As soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of love with words.

As soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of love with words.