William Shakespeare

The robbed that smiles steals something from the thief,
He robs himself that spends a bootless grief.

The robbed that smiles steals something from the thief,
He robs himself that spends a bootless grief.

Can it be
That modesty may more betray our sense
Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough,
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Can it be
That modesty may more betray our sense
Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough,
Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary
And pitch our evils there?

There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
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There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.

(Portia:) A quarrel ho! already! What's the matter?
(Gratiano:) About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring
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(Portia:) A quarrel ho! already! What's the matter?
(Gratiano:) About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring
That she did give me, whose posy was
For all the world like cutler's poetry
Upon a knife--'Love me, and leave me not.'

A sceptre snatched with an unruly hand
Must be as boisterously maintained as gained,
And he that read more

A sceptre snatched with an unruly hand
Must be as boisterously maintained as gained,
And he that stands upon a slippery place
Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up.