William Shakespeare

Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing.
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;
read more

Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing.
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;
But he that filches from me my good name
Robs me of that which not enriches him
And makes me poor indeed.

I am sure care 's an enemy to life. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 3.

I am sure care 's an enemy to life. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 3.

The course of true love never did run smooth.

The course of true love never did run smooth.

What wound did ever heal but my degrees?

What wound did ever heal but my degrees?

Promising is the very air o' th' time; it opens the eyes of
expectation. Performance is ever duller for read more

Promising is the very air o' th' time; it opens the eyes of
expectation. Performance is ever duller for his act; and, but in
the plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed of saying is
quite out of use. To promise is most courtly and fashionable;
performance is a kind of will or testament which argues a great
sickness in his judgment that makes it.