William Shakespeare

Friends, Romans countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.

Friends, Romans countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.

Let there be gall enough in thy ink; though thou write with a goose-pen, no matter. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. read more

Let there be gall enough in thy ink; though thou write with a goose-pen, no matter. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 2.

This will last out a night in Russia, When nights are longest there. -Measure for Measure. Act ii. Sc. 1.

This will last out a night in Russia, When nights are longest there. -Measure for Measure. Act ii. Sc. 1.

There is no vice so simple, but assumes
Some mark of virtue on his outward parts.

There is no vice so simple, but assumes
Some mark of virtue on his outward parts.

And what art thou, thou idol Ceremony?
What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more
Of read more

And what art thou, thou idol Ceremony?
What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more
Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers?