William Shakespeare

I charge thee, Satan, housed within this man,
To yield possession to my holy prayers,
And to read more

I charge thee, Satan, housed within this man,
To yield possession to my holy prayers,
And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight.
I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven.

A goodly apple rotten at the heart: O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath! -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. read more

A goodly apple rotten at the heart: O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath! -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.

Tell me where is fancy bred,
Or in the heart, or in the head?
How begot, how read more

Tell me where is fancy bred,
Or in the heart, or in the head?
How begot, how nourished?
Reply, reply.
It is engend'red in the eyes,
With gazing fed, and fancy dies
In the cradle where it lies.

O, what a world of vile ill-favour'd faults Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year! -The Merry Wives of read more

O, what a world of vile ill-favour'd faults Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year! -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iii. Sc. 4.

Ah, poor our sex! this fault in us I find,
The error of our eye directs our mind.
read more

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