William Shakespeare

Every inordinate cup is unblessed, and the ingredient is a devil.

Every inordinate cup is unblessed, and the ingredient is a devil.

What many men desire--that 'many' may be meant
By the fool multitude that choose by show,
Not read more

What many men desire--that 'many' may be meant
By the fool multitude that choose by show,
Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach,
Which pries not to th' interior, but like the martlet
Builds in the weather on the outward wall,
Even in the force and road of casualty.

Confess yourself to heaven,
Repent what's past, avoid what is to come,
And do not spread the read more

Confess yourself to heaven,
Repent what's past, avoid what is to come,
And do not spread the compost on the weeds
To make them ranker.

Men shut their doors against the setting sun.

Men shut their doors against the setting sun.

In the posteriors of this day, which the rude multitude call the afternoon. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. read more

In the posteriors of this day, which the rude multitude call the afternoon. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. 1.