William Shakespeare

To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much. -King Henry read more

To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act iii. Sc. 2.

[F]ew things loves better
Than to abhor himself-- . . .

[F]ew things loves better
Than to abhor himself-- . . .

What need I fear of thee? But yet I'll make assurance double sure, and take a bond of fate: thou read more

What need I fear of thee? But yet I'll make assurance double sure, and take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live; That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies, And sleep in spite of thunder

She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i' th' bud,
Feed on her read more

She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i' th' bud,
Feed on her damask cheek. She pined in thought;
And, with a green and yellow melancholy,
She sat like Patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief.

And wilt thou still be hammering treachery
To tumble down thy husband and thyself
From top of read more

And wilt thou still be hammering treachery
To tumble down thy husband and thyself
From top of honor to disgrace's feet?