William Shakespeare

Love all, trust a few,
Do wrong to none.

Love all, trust a few,
Do wrong to none.

True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings; Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. -King Richard III. read more

True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings; Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. -King Richard III. Act v. Sc. 2.

An I thought he had been valiant and so cunning in fence, I 'ld have seen him damned ere I' read more

An I thought he had been valiant and so cunning in fence, I 'ld have seen him damned ere I' ld have challenged him. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.

I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with you, walk with you, and so following; but I will read more

I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with you, walk with you, and so following; but I will not eat with you, drink with you, nor pray with you. What news on the Rialto? -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.

All the world 's a stage, And all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their read more

All the world 's a stage, And all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard; Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side; His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.