William Shakespeare

These are the forgeries of jealousy;
And never, since the middle summer's spring,
Met we on hill, read more

These are the forgeries of jealousy;
And never, since the middle summer's spring,
Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead,
By paved fountain or by rushy brook,
Or in the beached margent of the sea,
To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind,
But with thy brawls thou hast disturbed our sport.

The art of our necessities is strange, That can make vile things precious.

The art of our necessities is strange, That can make vile things precious.

Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 3.

Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 3.

A nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the
very ice of chastity is in them.

A nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the
very ice of chastity is in them.

The lunatic, the lover, and the poet Are of imagination all compact: One sees more devils than vast hell can read more

The lunatic, the lover, and the poet Are of imagination all compact: One sees more devils than vast hell can hold, That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic, Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt: The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven; And as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name. Such tricks hath strong imagination, That if it would but apprehend some joy, It comprehends some bringer of that joy; Or in the night, imagining some fear, How easy is a bush supposed a bear! -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act v. Sc. 1.