When the oak is before the ash, then you will only get a splash;
when the ash is before read more

When the oak is before the ash, then you will only get a splash;
when the ash is before the oak, then you may expect a soak.

His essences turn the live air sick.

His essences turn the live air sick.

Everybody's business is nobody's business.

Everybody's business is nobody's business.

Trifles light as air
Are to the jealous confirmations strong
As proofs of holy writ.

Trifles light as air
Are to the jealous confirmations strong
As proofs of holy writ.

If you are dreaded by many then beware of many.

If you are dreaded by many then beware of many.

Just as the felon condemn'd to die--
With a very natural loathing--
Leaving the sheriff to dream read more

Just as the felon condemn'd to die--
With a very natural loathing--
Leaving the sheriff to dream of ropes,
From his gloomy cell in a vision elopes,
To caper on sunny greens and slopes,
Instead of the dance upon nothing.

When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions: first, her father slain;
Next, your read more

When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions: first, her father slain;
Next, your son gone, and he most violent author
Of his own just remove; the people muddied,
Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers
For good Polonius' death, and we have done but greenly
In hugger-mugger to inter him; poor Ophelia
Divided from herself and her fair judgment,
Without the which we are pictures or mere beasts;
Last, and as much containing as all these,
Her brother is in secret come from France,
Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds,
And wants not buzzers to infect his ear
With pestilent speeches of his father's death,
Wherein necessity, of matter beggared,
Will nothing stick our person to arraign
In ear and ear.

Water a farre off quencheth not fire.

Water a farre off quencheth not fire.

Now, my sere fancy "falls into the yellow
Leaf," and imagination droops her pinion;
And the sad read more

Now, my sere fancy "falls into the yellow
Leaf," and imagination droops her pinion;
And the sad truth, which hovers o'er my desk,
Turns what was once romantic to burlesque.