'T is but the fate of place, and the rough brake That virtue must go through. -King Henry VIII. Act read more

'T is but the fate of place, and the rough brake That virtue must go through. -King Henry VIII. Act i. Sc. 2.

Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful. -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.

Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful. -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.

Now you who rhyme, and I who rhyme,
Have not we sworn it, many a time,
That read more

Now you who rhyme, and I who rhyme,
Have not we sworn it, many a time,
That we no more our verse would scrawl,
For Shakespeare he had said it all!

Hear you this Triton of the minnows? Mark you His absolute shall? -Coriolanus. Act iii. Sc. 1.

Hear you this Triton of the minnows? Mark you His absolute shall? -Coriolanus. Act iii. Sc. 1.

Lie ten nights awake, carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to speak plain and to the read more

Lie ten nights awake, carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to speak plain and to the purpose. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act ii. Sc. 3.

Men Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief Which they themselves not feel. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act v. read more

Men Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief Which they themselves not feel. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act v. Sc. 1.

Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on,—how then? Can honour set read more

Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on,—how then? Can honour set to a leg? no: or an arm? no: or take away the grief of a wound? no. Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? no. What is honour? a word. What is in that word honour; what is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? he that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth he hear it? no. 'T is insensible, then? yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? no. Why? detraction will not suffer it. Therefore I 'll none of it. Honour is a mere scutcheon. And so ends my catechism. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act v. Sc. 1.

Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts read more

Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form. -King John. Act iii. Sc. 4.

An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told. -King Richard III. Act iv. Sc. 4.

An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told. -King Richard III. Act iv. Sc. 4.