William Shakespeare

A little fire is quickly trodden out;
Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench.

A little fire is quickly trodden out;
Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench.

The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark
When neither is attended; and I think
The read more

The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark
When neither is attended; and I think
The nightingale, if she should sing by day
When every goose is cackling, would be thought
No better a musician than the wren.
How many thing by season seasoned are
To their right praise and true perfection!

For the poor wren
(The most diminutive of birds) will fight,
Her young ones in her nest, read more

For the poor wren
(The most diminutive of birds) will fight,
Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.

There's no art to find the mind's construction in the face.

There's no art to find the mind's construction in the face.

I am disgraced, impeached, and baffled here;
Pierced to the soul with slander's venomed spear,
The which read more

I am disgraced, impeached, and baffled here;
Pierced to the soul with slander's venomed spear,
The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood
Which breathed this poison.