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Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much. -Much Ado read more
Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act ii. Sc. 1.
We 'll have a swashing and a martial outside, As many other mannish cowards have. -As You Like It. Act read more
We 'll have a swashing and a martial outside, As many other mannish cowards have. -As You Like It. Act i. Sc. 3.
Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you? -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.
Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you? -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.
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.
There is no vice so simple but assumes Some mark of virtue in his outward parts. -The Merchant of Venice. read more
There is no vice so simple but assumes Some mark of virtue in his outward parts. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 2.
A load would sink a navy. -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.
A load would sink a navy. -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.
That no Italian priest Shall tithe or toll in our dominions. -King John. Act iii. Sc. 1.
That no Italian priest Shall tithe or toll in our dominions. -King John. Act iii. Sc. 1.
Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart or in the head? How begot, how nourished? Reply, reply. read more
Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart or in the head? How begot, how nourished? Reply, reply. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 2.
The idea of her life shall sweetly creep Into his study of imagination, And every lovely organ of her life, read more
The idea of her life shall sweetly creep Into his study of imagination, And every lovely organ of her life, Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit, More moving-delicate and full of life Into the eye and prospect of his soul. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iv. Sc. 1.
