William Shakespeare

This is the excellent foppery of the world, that when we are sick
in fortune, often the surfeits of read more

This is the excellent foppery of the world, that when we are sick
in fortune, often the surfeits of our own behavior, we make
guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and stars; as if we
were villains on necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion; knaves,
thieves, and treachers by spherical predominance; drunkards,
liars, and adulterers by an enforced obedience of planetary
influence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on.
An admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to lay his goatish
disposition on the charge of a star.

This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, read more

This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands,— This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England. -King Richard II. Act ii. Sc. 1.

To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much. -King Henry read more

To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Yet in bestowing, madam, He was most princely. -King Henry VIII. Act iv. Sc. 2.

Yet in bestowing, madam, He was most princely. -King Henry VIII. Act iv. Sc. 2.

Question your grace the late ambassadors,
With what great state he heard their embassy,
How well supplied read more

Question your grace the late ambassadors,
With what great state he heard their embassy,
How well supplied with noble counsellors,
How modest in exception, and withal
How terrible in constant resolution,
And you shall find his vanities forespent
Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus,
Covering discretion with a coat of folly;
As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots
That shall first spring and be most delicate.