William Shakespeare

Where every something, being blent together turns to a wild of nothing.

Where every something, being blent together turns to a wild of nothing.

If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, read more

If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again! it had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour! -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 1.

Of moving accidents by flood and field.

Of moving accidents by flood and field.

It would be argument for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jest for ever. -King Henry IV. read more

It would be argument for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jest for ever. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 2.

Let 's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs. -King Richard II. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Let 's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs. -King Richard II. Act iii. Sc. 2.