William Shakespeare

How far that little candle throws its beams;
So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

How far that little candle throws its beams;
So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

For 'tis the sport to have the enginer
Hoist with his own petar, and 't shall go hard
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For 'tis the sport to have the enginer
Hoist with his own petar, and 't shall go hard
But I will delve one yard below their mines
And blow them at the moon.

The miserable have no other medicine, But only hope.

The miserable have no other medicine, But only hope.

You two are book-men. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iv. Sc. 2.

You two are book-men. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iv. Sc. 2.

I wished your venison better--it was ill killed.

I wished your venison better--it was ill killed.