William Shakespeare

Who has a book of all that monarchs do,
He's more secure to keep it shut than shown;
read more

Who has a book of all that monarchs do,
He's more secure to keep it shut than shown;
For vice repeated is like the wand'ring wind,
Blows dust in others' eye, to spread itself;
And yet the end of all is bought thus dear,
The breath is gone, and the sore eyes see clear
To stop the air would hurt them.

See, your guests approach.
Address yourself to entertain them sprightly,
And let's be red with mirth.

See, your guests approach.
Address yourself to entertain them sprightly,
And let's be red with mirth.

Ah, poor our sex! this fault in us I find,
The error of our eye directs our mind.
read more

Ah, poor our sex! this fault in us I find,
The error of our eye directs our mind.
What error leads must error.

Brevity is the soul of wit.

Brevity is the soul of wit.

Coal-black is better than another hue
In that it scorns to bear another hue;
For all the read more

Coal-black is better than another hue
In that it scorns to bear another hue;
For all the water in the ocean
Can never turn the swan's black legs to white,
Although she lave them hourly in the flood.