William Shakespeare

For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous organ.

For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous organ.

You souls of geese,
That bear the shapes of men, how have you run
From slaves that read more

You souls of geese,
That bear the shapes of men, how have you run
From slaves that apes would men!

Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have
greatness thrust upon 'em.

Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have
greatness thrust upon 'em.

Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it,
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Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it,
Making it momentany as a sound,
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream,
Brief as the lightning in the collied night,
That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth,
And ere a man hath power to say 'Behold!'
The jaws of darkness do devour it up:
So quick bright things come to confusion.

My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical,
Shakes so my single state of man that function
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My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical,
Shakes so my single state of man that function
Is smothered in surmise and nothing is
But what is not.