William Shakespeare

Wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss, but cheerily seek how to redress their harms.

Wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss, but cheerily seek how to redress their harms.

Men at some time are masters of their fates.
The fault, dear Brutus, is not is our stars,
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Men at some time are masters of their fates.
The fault, dear Brutus, is not is our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.

I have a good eye, uncle; I can see a church by day-light. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act ii. Sc. read more

I have a good eye, uncle; I can see a church by day-light. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act ii. Sc. 1.

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs, Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes, Being vexed, read more

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs, Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes, Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers' tears. What is it else? A madness most discreet, A choking gall and a preserving sweet.

Sir, she can turn, and turn, and yet go on,
And turn again.

Sir, she can turn, and turn, and yet go on,
And turn again.