One out of suits with fortune. -As You Like It. Act i. Sc. 2.

One out of suits with fortune. -As You Like It. Act i. Sc. 2.

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.

He hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in a book; he hath not eat paper, as it read more

He hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in a book; he hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iv. Sc. 2.

My meaning in saying he is a good man, is to have you understand me that he is sufficient. -The read more

My meaning in saying he is a good man, is to have you understand me that he is sufficient. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.

Mocking the air with colours idly spread. -King John. Act v. Sc. 1.

Mocking the air with colours idly spread. -King John. Act v. Sc. 1.

Consideration, like an angel, came And whipped the offending Adam out of him. -King Henry V. Act i. Sc. 1.

Consideration, like an angel, came And whipped the offending Adam out of him. -King Henry V. Act i. Sc. 1.

Seven hundred pounds and possibilities is good gifts. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 1.

Seven hundred pounds and possibilities is good gifts. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 1.

He hath eaten me out of house and home. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act ii. Sc. 1.

He hath eaten me out of house and home. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act ii. Sc. 1.

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here we will sit and let the sounds of music Creep in read more

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here we will sit and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold: There 's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins. Such harmony is in immortal souls; But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. Sc. 1.