William Shakespeare

What if this cursed hand
Where thicker than itself with brother's blood,
Is there not rain enough read more

What if this cursed hand
Where thicker than itself with brother's blood,
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens
To wash it white as snow?

We shall be winnowed with so rough a wind
That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff
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We shall be winnowed with so rough a wind
That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff
And good from bad find no partition.

The young gentleman, according to Fates and Destinies and such odd sayings, the Sisters Three and such branches of learning, read more

The young gentleman, according to Fates and Destinies and such odd sayings, the Sisters Three and such branches of learning, is indeed deceased; or, as you would say in plain terms, gone to heaven. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 2.

Ah, poor our sex! this fault in us I find,
The error of our eye directs our mind.
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Ah, poor our sex! this fault in us I find,
The error of our eye directs our mind.
What error leads must error.

That it should come to this,
But two months dead, nay, not so much, not two,
So read more

That it should come to this,
But two months dead, nay, not so much, not two,
So excellent a king, that was to this
Hyperion to a satyr, so loving to my mother
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth,
Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on, and yet within a month--
Let me not think on't; frailty, thy name is woman--
A little month, or ere those shoes were old
With which she followed my poor father's body
Like Niobe, all tears, why she, even she--
O God, a beast that wants discourse of reason
Would have mourned longer--married with my uncle,
My father's brother, but no more like my father
Than I to Hercules.