You May Also Like / View all maxioms
An honest exceeding poor man. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 2.
An honest exceeding poor man. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 2.
Blow, blow, thou winter wind! Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. read more
Blow, blow, thou winter wind! Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.
There 's the humour of it. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act ii. Sc. 1.
There 's the humour of it. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act ii. Sc. 1.
Masters, spread yourselves. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act i. Sc. 2.
Masters, spread yourselves. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act i. Sc. 2.
Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women Rail on the Lord's anointed. -King Richard III. Act iv. Sc. 4.
Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women Rail on the Lord's anointed. -King Richard III. Act iv. Sc. 4.
An I thought he had been valiant and so cunning in fence, I 'ld have seen him damned ere I' read more
An I thought he had been valiant and so cunning in fence, I 'ld have seen him damned ere I' ld have challenged him. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.
They have measured many a mile To tread a measure with you on this grass. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act read more
They have measured many a mile To tread a measure with you on this grass. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. 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.
Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, read more
Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on; and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. -The Tempest. Act iv. Sc. 1.
